


Laid Between Words

by jeeno2



Series: Reylo Multichapters [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fake Marriage, Marriage of Convenience, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-01-24 14:00:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 58,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21339391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeeno2/pseuds/jeeno2
Summary: “It wouldn’t be a real marriage, obviously,” Ben clarifies, as though that’s an important point that might not have occurred to her. “Though we’d have to live together, obviously. And I’m sure there are a lot of other things we’ll have to do to convince people.”---------------------(Or: Rey is nearing the end of her temporary work Visa. Her friend Ben offers to marry her so she can stay in the U.S. She says yes.)
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: Reylo Multichapters [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559581
Comments: 2630
Kudos: 4093
Collections: Ijustfellintothissendhelp





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this one for a while, and now that I have about 1/3 of the story written I've decided to bite the bullet and start posting.
> 
> This is going to be some of the world’s most unoriginal, tropey nonsense. Let's go!

The email from Human Resources that Rey’s been waiting for—and dreading—is in her inbox when she gets into work Monday morning.

She closes her eyes and takes a series of deep breaths to try and calm herself down. She’s never really been one for prayer. In fact, she isn’t even certain how it’s done. But if she  _ were _ the kind of person who prayed she guesses she’d probably be doing it now.

Rey takes a big sip from her coffee to buy herself a few more seconds. The sudden extra jolt of caffeine goes down bitter and does little to calm her nerves.

She nods to herself—she can do this; she  _ can _ —and sighs. Time to stop putting off the inevitable. Her hand shaking, she clicks on the email. 

Her heart sinks from the very first line.

* * *

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_ From: Kaydel C. Connix [ _ [ _ kaydel.connix@ilsla.org _ ](mailto:kaydel.connix@nylsi.org) _ ]  _

_ To: Rey J. Niima [ _ [ _ rey.niima@ilsla.org _ ](mailto:rey.niima@nylsi.org) _ ]  _

_ Subject: Your Visa _

_ xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx _

_ Dear Rey, _

_ I was hoping that when I wrote back to you it would be with better news. _

_ We’ve tried everything we can think of to convince him but Ackbar’s final answer is that we can’t afford to sponsor you for a Visa after your year-long OPT is up. He keeps talking about tightening budgets and how our funding from the federal government will likely be cut in half next year.  _

_ I’m sorry, Rey. If you want to talk about it or cry over beers or something, I’m here. _

_ Yours, _

_ Kaydel C. Connix _

_ Human Resources _

_ Illinois State Legal Aid—Springfield _

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

* * *

Rey closes her eyes again. She slowly shuts her laptop. 

Then she grabs her stapler off her desk and throws it as hard as she can against the wall of her cubicle. It makes a loud crashing noise when it hits the floor, but that doesn’t really make her feel any better.

In the back of her mind, of course, she always knew this might happen. The idea that she might have to go back to London before she was ready to leave has loomed on the distant horizon as a vague, unpleasant possibility ever since she moved here nearly four years ago. 

But avoiding painful subjects has always been one of Rey’s strengths. It took only a few months for Chicago to feel like home in a way London never did. Somewhere along the way she simply stopped worrying about what was waiting for her after graduation. 

It’s only been in the six months since graduation happened that what she’s now facing has started feeling like a concrete possibility… and not just an abstract worry she has the luxury of putting off some other day.

“Hey.”

Rey looks up and sees Finn standing just outside her cubicle wearing his  _ I’m worried about you  _ face. Seeing it now makes Rey nearly burst into tears. But she wills herself to keep her composure. She needs to be in court to defend her clients’ unlawful detainer action in an hour— and this family, just like all her clients, depends on her to keep her shit together while their lives fall apart. 

“Hey, Finn,” she says, trying to modulate her voice and pretend like she’s not about to lose it. “What’s up?” 

“You just threw your ugly pink stapler against the wall. That’s what’s up.” He bends down and gingerly picks it up. He hands it to her. “It was pretty hard to miss, seeing as I work in the cubicle next to yours.”

Rey takes the stapler from him, a little sheepishly. It looks broken. She’ll have to get another one the next time she’s at Target. “Yeah. I guess it… probably was hard to miss.”

He leans over the wall presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Connix finally got back to you I take it?”

She nods silently, afraid that answering him out loud will trigger the tears she just doesn’t have time for right now.

Finn moves into her cubicle, kneels down on the floor, and envelops her in one of his great big hugs. Finn—her rock during law school; her best friend now. What will she do without him after she leaves? 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Yeah,” Rey says in a monotone. “Me too.”

“But I mean… you still have options, right?” Finn digs around in his pocket and pulls out a crumpled packet of tissues. He offers it to Rey, but she shakes her head. “You could get another job, right?”

Rey sighs, and rubs a hand over her face.

“I mean… first of all, I don’t  _ want _ another job.” She sniffles a little, but shakes her head more emphatically when Finn offers her the Kleenex again. “This one was hard enough to find. I  _ like _ this job.”

“I know,” Finn puts a warm, reassuring hand on her shoulder. Gives her a gentle squeeze. “I know.”

“But even if I get another job I still don’t know if I’ll be able to stay.” The office of graduate student affairs told her as much her first week here. Finding a paying job after graduation is hard enough in the current economy. Finding not only a job, but a job willing to sponsor you for a work Visa is becoming more and more of a pipe dream every year for international students like her. “I should have known there was a chance Ackbar would say no. I just…”

She trails off, feeling tears pricking her eyes.

Finn rubs her shoulder encouragingly. “You just what?” 

Rey swallows. “I just… wanted to stay so badly I didn’t want to think about it.” She sniffles. “I really,  _ really _ hoped Ackbar was going to say yes.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, we  _ all _ want you to stay.” Finn’s face is grim. Determined. “And we’ll do whatever we can to make that happen.”

Rey nods silently. She doesn’t trust her voice. 

“Should we invite some people over tonight?” Finn asks her. “Would some post-work nachos and beer help take your mind off things?”

“Yeah,” she says, nodding. She wipes the back of her hand across her eyes, dashing away her unshed tears. She’ll have to fix her mascara before court, probably. But it’ll be fine. “Yeah. That would be nice, actually.”

Finn gives her a small smile. “Great.” He stands up and pulls out his phone. “I’ll tell everyone to come over. Does seven work?” 

“Yeah. Seven’s perfect.” Rey tries to smile back at him. But she doesn’t quite manage it.

* * *

“So,” Poe says, all business. He leans forward conspiratorially on the couch he’s sharing with Finn until his elbows rest on his knees. He rubs his hands together. “What are our options?”

Rey takes a sip of her beer and makes a face. She’s always been more of a Chardonnay girl than a beer drinker but she’s not one to look a gift drink in the mouth. Not even when it’s one of the shitty beers Poe always brings over to their apartment.

“I’m pretty sure she doesn’t have many options at all,” Ben mutters from his chair in the corner. Ben Solo—the classmate who graduated a few years ago a joint JD-MBA; Poe’s childhood friend; and someone they still hang out with on occasion, despite the fact that he’s about as personable as a jar of spiders—rarely makes time for any social activity that doesn’t go towards meeting his firm’s insane annual billables requirement. In fact, Rey’s more than a little surprised he came tonight. She thought he had some big trial to get ready for.

But it doesn’t really matter. Because he’s right.

“Ben’s right,” Rey says. “I don’t have many options. Mostly likely I’ll stay here for another six months. Then my OPT will be up and I’ll have to move back to London.” She shrugs. Plays it off like it’s no big deal. Like her heart isn’t breaking at the thought of leaving everything behind—her rewarding work, her found family, her friends—and going back to a place that has never felt like home.

“Fuck that,” Poe says. “There has to be a loophole.” He takes a giant swallow of beer from his glass before slamming it back down on the cheap IKEA coffee table. Beer sloshes onto the table in the process, earning Poe a glare from Finn. But Poe ignores his boyfriend. “Didn’t we spend the past few years learning there are more exceptions to the law than there are laws?”

“No. You didn’t,” Ben says. He’s the only one drinking red wine tonight, and he shakes his head dismissively as he brings his glass to his lips. It looks expensive, what he’s drinking. It probably is. “At least not as pertains to immigration law.”

“He’s right again,” Rey says. “Unfortunately. Or at least, there aren’t any exceptions that I know of that will help me.” She takes another sip of her beer. The longer she drinks it the easier it seems to go down. Funny how that works. “I’ll have to get a new job in the next three months at a place willing to sponsor me for a Visa. Which Career Services tells me will be incredibly difficult in this economy.” And then, on a whim, she adds, sarcastically: “In the alternative, I guess I could always find an American citizen to marry me.”

Everyone laughs at that one except for Ben. But then, Ben never laughs at anything. Rey’s not certain she’s ever seen him crack a smile.

“You should at least  _ try _ to find a different job, ” Rose says, pleadingly. “Please don’t give up yet.”

“Oh, I haven’t given up,” Rey says. “I mean, I don’t think any big firms would want me, but—”

“You don’t know that,” Finn interjects.

Rey shrugs. “Either way, I’m leaving no stone unturned.” 

It’s the truth. She doesn’t think it’ll work, because she has no reason to think anyplace that isn’t some other, equally cash-strapped legal aid outfit would ever look twice at her resume. But she has to try. 

* * *

Ben waits until the others are all in the kitchen helping Finn make what they all call ‘ _ Finn’s Famous Nachos’ _ before finally getting out of his chair and approaching her.

“Hey.”

He’s wearing dark blue jeans slung low across his hips and a white t-shirt stretched a little too tightly across his frankly ridiculous chest. If Rey didn’t happen to know Ben Solo spends about seventy hours per week at work she’d think he spent two hours every day at the gym, lifting heavy things and punching large bags of sand with his massive fists.

Or maybe he does spent two hours per day at the gym and just never sleeps. Either way, Rey has always found it more than a little unnerving that someone as awkward and tightly-wound as Ben Solo would come in such attractive packaging.

She nods at him. “Hey yourself.” She smiles a little. “Thanks for coming tonight. It means a lot to know I have everyone’s support.” She stands up, and makes to go into the kitchen. Ben Solo is all right—a little weird, a lot intense, but all right—but his presence, one on one, has always made her incredibly nervous for reasons she can’t quite put her finger on. She doesn’t really want to talk with him right now without their other friends around. She’s already too on edge as it is.

“Of course,” he says. He attempts something that Rey thinks is supposed to be a smile but it doesn’t appear to come naturally for him. It looks more like a grimace of pain, and Rey has to dig her fingernails into her palms to keep from giggling. “Everyone was coming over tonight to cheer you up, so…”

He shrugs.

“Yeah.” Rey clears her throat. “Yeah. It was nice of all of you to come.”

Ben Solo doesn’t say anything in response to that. He simply looks at her a long moment, a thoughtful, intense expression on his face. It reminds her of what he was like back in that negotiations competition in law school, when he was trying to work out the best way to finesse a profitable deal with an adversarial company.

Rey is just about to tell him she’s going to join the others in the kitchen—Finn’s nachos may be famous, but what nobody knows is it’s actually her recipe, and that Finn couldn’t actually make ‘ _ Finn’s Famous Nachos’  _ by himself to save his life— when Ben says the very last thing Rey expects:

“I could marry you.”

The statement takes Rey so much by surprise her legs nearly give out. She stumbles backwards, half-blind, until the backs of her knees hit the couch. She falls into it, her breath leaving her body in a loud rush.

Ben chuckles a little. It’s a nervous sound.

“That bad, huh?” He’s trying to be self-deprecating, to play off her reaction to his insane suggestion as funny, or no big deal. But he looks both smug and, a little crestfallen, all at the same time, and literally nothing makes sense anymore.

And so Rey just... stares at him, stunned beyond reason. She blurts out the first thing that comes into her head.

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean it seriously,” she stammers. 

“I know.”

“What I said earlier,” she continues, dazed. “About finding an American citizen to marry me. I was only joking. Of course I didn’t mean it. I was just… I was just… I wasn’t expecting someone to....” She trails off, casting around wildly for the right words. “Jesus Christ, Ben. You don’t need to  _ marry _ me.” Distantly, she hears people laughing from the kitchen. Finn probably burned the cheese—he usually burns the cheese—but she ignores them. 

“I know you weren’t serious, Rey.” He looks down at his shoes. His feet are absolutely massive. Just like the rest of him. “But I would do it. I  _ could _ do it. Would it help?” 

Rey stares at him. This is  _ insane.  _

“You can’t be serious.” 

“Why not?”

“What do you mean,  _ why not _ ?” He’s just… standing there, so calm, arms folded across his broad chest and acting like this is a normal, reasonable thing for one acquaintance to suggest to another. Like he just invited her out to coffee on their way to work, or asked her a neutral question about the weather. Meanwhile, Rey feels like the earth is tilting on its axis. “Isn’t it obvious why not?”

“It wouldn’t be a  _ real _ marriage, obviously,” he clarifies, as though that’s an important point that might not have occurred to her. He pulls up a chair next to her couch and steeples his fingers together. He rests his chin on the point they make, looking thoughtful. “I mean we’d have to live together, obviously. And I’m sure there are a lot of other things we’ll have to do to convince people.” 

Rey barks out an incredulous laugh. She can’t believe this. He’s serious. More than serious; he’s thought this through.

“But I have a big apartment,” he continues. “And I’m never there.” He looks at her, his dark brown eyes serious. “You could move in, and it’d be just like having a mostly absent roommate.”

Rey doesn’t say anything for a very long time. She simply stares at him as she tries to process this… absolutely insane idea. And everything he’s offering her.

Could she really do this? 

It wouldn’t stop her from looking for a job that would allow her to get a work Visa, of course. No; she’d definitely keep looking, even if she…  _ accepted _ Ben’s offer. She has never been in a position where she had to depend on another person for anything. She never  _ wants _ to be in a position like that if it isn’t absolutely necessary.

But this—if she says yes to Ben…

It’s insane. There’s no doubt about that. But it could buy her time. If she says yes, she would have the time she needs to get everything in order the right way.

“Why are you offering to do this?” she demands. Because while, yes—this could be advantageous for her—why the fuck does he want to marry her?

He shrugs. Looks away.

“Would it help you?” He directs the question not to her, but to the half-dead potted plant on her windowsill. But the tips of his ears are turning pink—the only tell Ben Solo has, Rey’s noticed, that he’s nervous.

She nods. “It would,” she admits.

“That’s why.”

“That can’t be the only reason.” Because it  _ can’t _ be. He hardly knows her. And if even half the stories Poe’s told her about Ben over the years are true Ben Solo hardly goes out of his way to help anyone—let alone people like her.

“I’ve been thinking of getting a roommate anyway,” he admits. “Or a cat. I’m never there and when I am, the place just feels…”

Rey waits for him to finish his thought. When he doesn’t, she prompts, “It feels what?”

“Empty,” he says flatly. He drains the rest of his wine glass in one large gulp and sets it back down on the coffee table. “If I don’t marry you I’d have to interview new roommates. Which sounds awful. So really—you’re helping me too.”

Rey pauses. Thinks. Or tries to, anyway. The sounds in the kitchen are getting louder. If she says yes to Ben, Finn will need a new roommate. He’ll probably ask Poe to move in, finally, which would be a good thing—but if she says yes to this it will throw literally every other aspect of her life into total chaos.

But then, so would moving back to London. Honestly, she can’t think of anything that would be worse than that. She thinks, fleetingly, of her terrible childhood. Of what it had been like growing up in London, living as a half-starved, half-forgotten orphan lost in the system.

In the end, it’s those memories that decide it for her.

She nods. Takes a deep, steadying breath.

“I’m going to keep trying to find a new job,” Rey begins, slowly. Choosing her words very carefully. He’s a lawyer, and a good one. Words are the only things that have meaning to either one of them. “One that will get me a work Visa. Because that would be my first choice, obviously.”

Ben nods. “Obviously.”

“But who knows if I’ll find one in enough time,” Rey says. “I only have a few months. And… and if I can’t manage it…” 

She pauses. Looks at Ben, who is watching her with a guarded expression.

God, this is going to be so weird. Is she seriously going to do this? 

She thinks of London. She thinks of Finn.

Yeah, she decides. She is.

She licks her lips and wills the rate of her pounding heart to slow, and says, “Okay. Yes. Let’s get married.”

Ben’s eyes go a little wide. Like he hadn’t expected her to accept his proposal. But he recovers quickly. 

He gives her a small smile that reaches his eyes. 

“Good.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you want a tour?” The question comes out in a nervous rush, and Rey would laugh at how awkward this all was if this weren’t her life now and if she weren’t a bit nervous, too. She just married a man she barely knows—and now they live together. It’s insane. All of this is absolutely insane. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have enough of this pre-written that I plan to update weekly at least through November (and hopefully well beyond). 
> 
> Thank you so much for your kind words about the first chapter! On with the tropes. :D

“Should we come up with some ground rules?”

Ben had been lounging in his chair across the table from her at the coffee shop, absently doodling something on his napkin with a pen. At Rey’s question he looks up for the first time in about ten minutes.

He frowns at her. “Ground rules for what?” 

“Ground rules for what we’re about to do. The wedding’s in a week. Since it won’t be a real marriage I just thought we should…” Rey trails off. Shrugs. “Discuss how we want things to go.”

He studies her a moment, head cocked to the side. “What kind of things?”

His question surprises her. Legend has it that Ben Solo graduated in the top five percent of his class in both the law school and business school. He’s only three years out, but already he’s developing a reputation for absolutely annihilating his adversaries in the courtroom. 

He’s some kind of genius, Poe’s always said. 

Is he really this big of an idiot?

She can feel herself starting to blush, more embarrassed than she really should be given that she’s on what’s technically her second date with the man she’s going to marry in a few days.

Then again, they only got engaged a week ago. And their first _ date _—such as it was—was spent at another coffee shop across town where they each spent more time doing work than actually interacting. 

They still hardly know each other at all.

Which is, of course, part of the problem.

“_ You _ know,” she hedges, feeling her blush deepen. “Marriage things.”

At that, Ben turns fully in his chair so he can stare at her. 

“Marriage things,” he repeats flatly.

“Yeah.”

“Can you be a little more specific about what you mean by _ marriage things _ ? _ Marriage things _ could mean literally anything.” His tone is almost hostile. Which is a little uncalled for, Rey thinks, given that this whole ridiculous plan was his idea in the first place.

He brings his coffee cup up to his lips and takes a big sip from it. Ben Solo, she learned last week, takes his coffee black, always. He hates the sugary drinks she likes to order. This brings the number of things she knows about him up to about ten.

“Well,” Rey says, trying to tamp down her rising irritation. “For starters. What about bedrooms?”

“What about them?”

Rey lets out a huff of frustration. Why is he being so obstinate? “I mean… I assume I’ll have my own?”

At that, Ben’s entire demeanor changes. He stops slouching and sits up straight. He sets his coffee mug back down on the table and folds his hands carefully on his lap.

He nods. “Yes. Yes, of course.” He clears his throat. “My condo has three bedrooms. I’ve already had one made up for you.” 

Her eyebrows shoot up. “You have three bedrooms?”

“Yeah.”

“In Lincoln Park?”

He shrugs. Like it’s no big deal for a twenty-nine year old guy to live in a Lincoln Park three-bedroom condo by himself. She’d known, from Poe, that Ben Solo’s family is rich—that he comes from a long line of powerful, wealthy east coast-based attorneys and politicians. But clearly, she’d had no idea. 

“Yeah,” he says, averting his eyes. He fidgets with his mug. “In Lincoln Park.”

“So, separate rooms then,” she says.

He nods. “Sure.”

“Great,” she says. She checks off the first item on her mental checklist. “Second of all—I assume we agree we can see other people?”

Ben looks at her with the oddest expression on his face. 

“If you want to date other people I’m not going to stop you.”

Rey nods. She figured he would agree to that. Whatever else he might be Ben is a sensible person.

“And you can date other people too,” Rey says. “Obviously. It’ll go both ways of course.”

A long pause. “Of course.”

“One other thing,” Rey says. She takes a sip from the mocha latte she’d ordered with extra whipped cream, and smiles to herself at the look of horror on Ben’s face. It’s going to be fun, she thinks; winding him up like this. “For this to work, we’ll have to get to know each other pretty well,” she continues. “Or at least, we’ll have to learn key details about each other. I have the paperwork with all the details back at my apartment but I think we’ll need to know things like— birthmarks, which side of the bed we each sleep on.” She shrugs. “Also, we’ll need to work on a consistent story to tell about how we met, fell in love, and so on.”

Ben nods. “Yes. I know all that.” 

“So,” Rey continues. “At some point we’ll need to come up with like… I don’t know. A questionnaire for each other. Or something.”

Ben blinks at her. “A questionnaire?”

“Yeah. I mean it’s not like we’re going to know all these intimate details about each other otherwise. Right?”

Ben nods, but his full attention is once again on his coffee mug. 

“Right,” he says.

That decided, Rey looks out the window of their Starbucks and sees a car stopped at an intersection to let a family of four cross the road. They’re a slow-moving group, and if they were in any other city their driver would have leaned on their horn five times by now. But this isn’t any other city. It’s Chicago. 

Rey has never loved anyplace more.

“Oh,” Ben says, cutting into her reverie. “I almost forgot.”

He rummages through his black leather briefcase for a long moment, muttering things under his breath that Rey can’t quite make out. At length, he lets out a quiet “_ aha _,” and sits up again.

He’s holding a small black felt-covered box in both hands. The kind you see in television commercials at Christmastime—or at the end of cheesy rom-coms, when the guy suddenly realizes he should never have moved to New York in the first place and finally proposes to the girl he grew up with back home.

Rey’s eyes widen at the sight of it. Her mouth goes dry.

“If we’re doing this,” Ben says, “we should make it look as real as we can.” He opens the box, revealing a little silver ring with a perfect, round sapphire set right in the center. The stone catches the sunlight streaming in from the window behind them, making it sparkle like frost at dawn.

“Ben…” Rey breathes. Her heart is pounding in her chest. “You don’t have to—”

“It was my grandmother’s,” he says abruptly, cutting off the rest of what she’d been about to say. He shrugs—like it’s no big deal that he’s about to give her a ring his grandmother used to wear. Did his grandmother intend for him to give it to his future wife one day? She can’t have wanted him to throw it away like this on a woman he hardly knows and a fake marriage. “Give me your hand.”

Slowly, Rey complies, extending her left hand towards him and feeling like this has to be some kind of dream. He takes her hand in his—so soft and warm; and strong. Her hand shakes a little when Ben slides the ring on her finger. 

“It fits,” Rey says, stunned. Rey has never imagined herself wearing an engagement ring before, has never fantasized about either a wedding day or the person she one day might marry. But she stares down at her hand now in spite of herself—like the girl at the end of those silly rom-coms— unable to look away.

“It _ should _ fit,” Ben mutters. “I paid extra so they’d rush the resizing.”

She stares at him. “How did you know my ring size?”

He shrugs again, looking away. “It was easy to guess.” 

She opens her mouth to say something else—to thank him, probably; though in truth, she isn’t entirely sure what to thank him _ for _—but he’s already turned away from her, back to the work he brought with him today. Hiding behind his laptop.

A clear signal that he views this conversation is over.

Rey takes the hint and pulls out her own work from her briefcase.

But she can’t quite focus on the brief that’s due tomorrow. The hand that now wears his ring is still trembling. 

* * *

Everyone is already at City Hall, waiting for her, when Rey finally arrives for her own wedding. 

Rose—who looks at least as stunned by the situation as Rey feels—is absolutely adorable in a pale pink dress and patent leather black heels. She’s standing with Finn and Poe, who are wearing matching grey suits and stricken expressions.

None of them really understands why she’s doing this. Rey knows that, though they’ve all done their best to be supportive ever since she dropped this bombshell on them. Finn will always have her back, and he tells her that often—but now that the moment is here she can see in his eyes how much he wishes this weren’t happening.

Not that Rey can really blame him for that. She only wishes she had another viable option.

When Rose sees her, she rushes over and grabs her hand. Unlike Rose, Rey didn’t go to much effort for this. She’s wearing a pretty, cream-colored sheath dress Paige lent her, and this morning she let Rose do up her hair in a neat french braid. She figures she looks more than passably done-up for a wedding ceremony at City Hall—but the only reason she did anything at all with her appearance today was because Ben reminded her the government might want to see their wedding photos. 

Rey figures it’s hard to convince anyone it’s marriage is real if you get married in jeans. But other than her dress and her hair, Rey has basically shown up to her own wedding just as she is. 

After all, it isn’t as though any of this is _ real _.

“You don’t have to do this,” Rose murmurs to her.

Rey closes her eyes and rests her forehead against her friend’s.

“I do,” she says.

“Rey—“

Rey shakes her head and gives Rose a look that cuts her off. 

“If I want to stay in this country I need to cover all bases.” She glances over Rose’s shoulder at Ben, who’s looking agitated and talking quietly with the judge they’ve asked to do this for them. “If I can find a job that will sponsor a work Visa before my year is up I’ll just get it annulled.”

Rose gapes at her, horrified. “Rey…”

But Rey only shrugs. She doesn’t have the positive associations with family and marriage that the Tico sisters do. She doesn’t have any associations with family and marriage at all. In truth, once she got over the initial shock of Ben’s proposal she’s come to view this situation as little more than a business transaction. Albeit a highly unusual one.

“And if I _ can’t _ find a job before my time’s up,” Rey continues. “I’ll keep looking. In the meantime, I have a solid backup plan in the form of a husband who’s an American citizen.” 

Rose opens and closes her mouth several times as she searches for the right words. Eventually, she says, “So you’re going to be married to someone you don’t love for as long as it takes, then.”

Rey nods. “Yeah. But…” She bites her lip. “There are worse problems.” Like not having a place to live at all. Or, in her case, having to go back to London in a few months and build a new life for herself from scratch.

“Are you ready?” Ben’s deep voice, coming from just behind Rey’s right shoulder, cuts into the conversation, effectively ending it.

Rey turns—and her breath catches at the sight of him.

Ben is a lawyer, and Rey has seen him in suits more times than she can count. But the suit he’s wearing today—charcoal grey, and tailored so perfectly to his body it fits him like a glove—is different, somehow. His suit jacket is unbuttoned, revealing the white dress shirt he’s wearing beneath it. It fits him so well it’s practically indecent, clinging to his broad chest in a way that makes Rey wonder, in spite of herself, what it would be like to undo all the little white buttons down it’s front with her fingers.

Even on his bad days Ben Solo’s hair and clothes look impeccable. But today…

Today, he looks… _ incredible _. 

They stand there, silently looking at each other, for what feels like a very long time. And then Ben clears his throat, very quietly, and says, “The judge is ready.”

It snaps Rey out of her reverie. “Oh.” She looks away, and makes a show of smoothing down the front of her dress so she can hide her blush. “Of course. Yeah, I’m ready.” She turns to Rose, who’s watching her with a curious expression. “Wish me luck?”

Rose nods and gives her a small smile. “Of course.” 

Rey told herself this morning that she wasn’t going to be nervous today. And under no circumstances was she going to cry. This is not a traditional wedding. This is _ not _ an emotional situation. 

But that was this morning. Now that the moment is finally here she can feel that telltale, traitorous pricking at the back of her eyes that has always been the prelude to tears.

She sniffles a little and turns from Rose.

“Shall we?” she asks Ben.

He nods. And then, to her surprise, he takes her elbow. His hand is as big as a dinner plate, and his palm is warm and steadying on her bare arm. She looks down at where he’s touching her. His hand is so pale, and it stands out in sharp relief against her tanned skin.

A strange little thrill goes through her at the sight of his hand on her body, touching her in such an intimate way.

Which is ridiculous, of course. 

None of this is real.

He inclines his head towards her. “You look lovely, Rey,” he murmurs, his mouth so close she can feel the words against her cheek.

And then, he kisses her. 

It isn’t much of a kiss; little more than a chaste press of his lips to hers. But his mouth is so soft, and his breath is warm on her cheek, where he kisses her next.

“For the pictures,” he explains, his words a quiet whisper in her ear.

Of course.

Rey swallows, her heart pounding in her chest in a way that is entirely unexpected.

“Makes sense,” she whispers back, not quite trusting her voice.

He gives her an odd look, then takes her hand. Rey isn’t a small woman, but his hand absolutely dwarfs hers, the thumb rubbing nervous circles into the back of her hand nearly as wide as two of her own slender fingers.

And together, they make their way to the front of the room, where the judge is waiting.

* * *

The Uber ride to Ben’s apartment only takes ten minutes. By the time they arrive Rey is still feeling a little tipsy from the wine Finn kept pouring for her at dinner and a lot tired from the long day.

As the car pulls over to the curb Rey stares up at the building where she will now be living. Top floor apartments are more expensive in this city, and since moving here she’s never lived anywhere but on ground floors. Ben, though, lives on the top floor here, so high off the ground Rey has to crane her neck to see its windows from the street.

She supposes they _ both _ live in a top floor apartment, now.

“We’re home,” Ben says, quietly. Those two little words do something to her, twist something deep inside her that she hasn’t wanted to think about since accepting his insane marriage proposal two weeks ago.

Ben extends his hand to her in a wordless invitation to take it. She does. He twines his thick fingers through hers, and his grip is steady and sure.

Before she can tell herself not to do it Rey marvels at just how _ good _ it feels, holding Ben’s hand like this.

It’s four flights up a too-narrow staircase to the apartment. Ben’s legs are so long he could easily take the stairs two at a time—but he doesn’t let go of Rey’s hand, and he pauses, slowing himself down when he notices her struggling to keep up.

By the time they finally make it to the fourth floor Rey’s heart is pounding hard, only partially due to the exertion of climbing stairs.

“Here we are,” Ben says, unnecessarily. He unlocks the door and puts his hand on the knob, and for a second he looks like he’s going to open it. 

Then he stops, and turns to look at her with an expression she can’t read.

She blinks at him. “What is it?”

Ben licks his lips, then stares down at his shoes.

“Do you want me to do it?”

A pause. “Do I... want you to do what?”

“You know.”

Rey puts her hands on her hips. “No. I really _ don’t _ know.”

Ben lets out a huff of frustration. “Do you want me to carry you over the threshold?” 

She blinks at him. “You’re joking.” Because he _ must _ be joking.

“No,” he says. “I’m not.” He looks at her for a moment, then seems to come to some kind of decision. “Yeah. I think I better.”

He puts his large, warm hands on either side of her waist and Rey’s eyes go wide with alarm and surprise. His breath is warm on her cheek. Her heart is racing like she’s just run a mile. 

“But… but _ why?” _

Wordlessly, he scoops Rey into his arms like she weighs nothing at all.

“Neighbors,” he says simply. Like that explains everything. He jostles her a little so he can reach the doorknob again, cradling her to his chest in the process. He smells good. Like soft leather, and sweat, and expensive soap. Rey buries her face in his neck before she realizes she’s done it.

“Neighbors,” she repeats, face still pressed to his neck. She supposed it makes sense. If USCIS comes to investigate their marriage they might talk to their neighbors. She and Ben might as well put on as convincing a show as possible from the very first day.

Ben kicks open the door with one foot, and walks them both across the threshold in one big stride. He carefully sets her on her feet again once they’re safely inside, his hands resting on her hips a few moments longer than is strictly necessary.

“You…” he begins, then stops.

“Me, what?”

He swallows. “You okay?”

She nods. “Yeah.” Though in truth, she’s feeling a little shaky right now, and more breathless than she’d like. She can still feel his big hands on her hips, and his strong arms beneath her knees as he carried her.

“Good,” he says. “Well. Here we are,” Ben says again, gesturing to the space around them. 

This apartment is without question the nicest place Rey has ever lived. It might even be the nicest living space she’s ever _ been _in. They’re standing in the center of an immaculate living room that’s so large it could easily accommodate the whole apartment she shared with Finn. The furniture she can see from his front door is all leather and mahogany—a far cry from the basic, functional stuff she has lived with all her life.

Nothing from IKEA here, Rey guesses. Ben’s probably never even set _ foot _ inside an IKEA.

As Rey takes in her surroundings Ben watches her with an unreadable expression.

“I… probably should have invited you over before now.” He sounds apologetic. “I mean—I know you’ve been here before. To bring over some of your stuff, and everything. But… ” He runs a hand through his hair distractedly as he searches for his next words. “It would have been... good for you to get used to the place gradually, probably. I just…”

He trails off, not sure what to say next.

“Oh, it’s fine,” Rey says. And it is. “I’ve seen the place, at least. And we’ve both been busy.” 

“Yeah.” He nods. “We have been.”

“And everything’s been such a whirlwind.” She pauses. “And anyway… I mean, I’m here now, right?”

“Yeah.”

They stand in Ben’s—in _ their— _living room for another long moment, the only sounds coming from the quiet ticking of the fancy old grandfather clock in the corner. 

“Do you want a tour?” The question comes out in a nervous rush, and Rey would laugh at how awkward this all was if this weren’t her life now and if she weren’t a bit nervous, too. She just married a man she barely knows—and now they live together. It’s insane. All of this is absolutely insane. 

“A tour?”

“Yeah.” His jaw works. “When you came over to drop off your stuff you... didn’t stick around long enough to see much.” 

“Oh,” she says. He’s not wrong about that. She’s had a million things to do the past two weeks to get ready for all this. Hanging out with Ben in his apartment had not felt like a high priority. “Yeah. A tour would be nice.”

“Okay.” Ben’s shoulders relax a little. “I’ll… um. Why don’t I show you your bedroom?”

Rey’s heart does a weird little thump inside her ribcage. 

_ Bedroom. _ Her _ bedroom. _

“Okay.”

He starts walking down the hallway with long, purposeful strides that she has to struggle to keep up with. There’s nothing on the walls anywhere in this apartment, she notices. No family photographs, no concert posters. This apartment is gorgeous, but it’s just so pristine, and so devoid of any kind of personal touch it makes Rey shiver a little unpleasantly.

She thinks of the framed band posters that line the walls in her apartment with Finn. They’re mostly Finn’s—but maybe he’ll let her take a few with her when she moves out the rest of her stuff. They don’t really go with Ben’s decor but maybe he’ll let her hang up a few of them anyway. If she’s going to be living here, she’s going to have to do _ something _ to feel more at home.

“Here we are,” Ben says, when they reach an open door at the end of the hall.

Rey pokes her head inside and her mouth drops open.

In her last apartment Rey slept inside a tiny closet of a room, on a twin-sized futon that folded up into a small couch during the day. This bedroom puts her old bedroom completely to shame. Not that she’s exactly surprised. There’s a queen-sized bed in the center, complete with a canopy and more decorative pillows than Rey’s ever seen in her life. There’s a wooden desk in the corner that looks like it’s made from oak, complete with a black leather desk chair. In one corner sits the three boxes of stuff she brought over a few days ago.

Rey puts her hand on the bed and marvels at the softness of its sheets. She can’t even imagine what the thread count must be.

She sits down on it, and faces the door.

“It’s great,” she says, meaning it.

Ben swallows, and stuffs his hands deep inside the pockets of his trousers.

“I figure you’ll probably want to bring the rest of your stuff here over the next few days,” he says. “I can help if you want.” He pauses. “I probably should, actually. It’ll look weird if I don’t.”

Rey tries, and fails, to think of a way to say _ but my stuff is nowhere near as nice as yours _ without sounding pathetic.

“Yeah,” she says instead. “It _ might _ look weird if you don’t help your wife move in with you.”

Ben’s jaw works. He looks away. 

“So—you sleep over there?” Rey continues, pointing to a closed door on the other side of the hallway.

Ben looks in the direction she’s pointing. “Yeah. That’s…. Um. That’s my bedroom.” He glances at her again before looking down at his shoes. “I don’t sleep here much though.”

“I see.” Rey feels her cheeks start to warm. Has he already taken her up on her offer to see other people? “Girlfriends and such?”

He huffs out a laugh. “Hardly.” He rubs at the back of his neck. “I... stay at work really late. I don’t sleep much. When I do, it’s often there, on a couch I keep in my office.”

“Oh,” Rey says, feeling foolish. “That’s…. that really sucks, Ben.”

“It does.” He shrugs. “Nothing I can do about it, though.”

Rey opens her mouth to tell him that _ that _can’t be true true. With his grades, his family connections, and his work experience, surely he could go anywhere and do anything he wanted to?

But before she can get out the words he says, “In fact, I really need to go to the office right now.”

Rey stares at him. “It’s nine p.m.” She pauses. ”On a Saturday. Also… I mean, it’s our wedding night, Ben.”

The tips of his ears start to go pink. “I know it’s our wedding night,” he says, tersely. Something about the intense look on Ben’s face sets Rey’s heart to racing again. It occurs to her for the first time that while they agreed to sleep in separate rooms they never did discuss what, exactly, would happen on their wedding night.

She’d assumed they wouldn’t actually be having sex as part of this arrangement. Is that what he’s assuming, too?

She clears her throat before continuing. She hopes she isn’t blushing as much as it _ feels _ like she’s blushing. “I mean… don’t you think it’ll look a little weird to everyone if you’re in the office on your wedding night?”

Ben pauses, considering that. The tips of his ears, his cheeks, are getting redder with each passing second. “You’re... probably right.”

She smiles at him. “I usually am.”

He turns so that he’s facing her again. The look he’s giving her right now could start a forest fire.

And then, just like that… it’s gone, replaced by the uncharacteristically nervous expression he’s been wearing all night.

“I… won’t go into the office,” he concedes, quietly. “But I do have to finish something. I’ll just… I guess I’ll be working in the study.” He pauses. “If you need anything.”

Rey blinks at him. “Where’s the study?” That hadn’t been part of the tour.

He points down the hallway. “The room on the end.”

“I see.”

He pauses in the doorway for a long moment, fidgeting with the doorknob and just... watching her. He opens his mouth, as if to say something else, only to close it again a moment later, apparently deciding against it. 

He shakes his head.

“Good night, Rey,” he tells her, very quiet, on his way out of the room.


	3. understanding, gentle, and tall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s long known that Ben Solo has a good body. Anyone with eyes in their head can see that. But it’s one thing to know, in the abstract, that the person you have somewhat unexpectedly become celibate roommates with is built like a brick house—and another to see him wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts in his kitchen, frying up bacon in front of the stove.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's been reading, kudo'ing, and commenting on this story so far. I am so, so happy you're enjoying this! I've fallen a little behind in replying to comments but I promise I have read, and appreciate, every single note you've left on this fic.
> 
> Also, I couldn't resist this chapter title after AD's interview with Stephen Colbert earlier this week ;)

Rey slowly blinks herself awake from a restless sleep, and rolls over in bed so she can check her phone to see what time it is. 

Her hand clumsily brushes up against the edge of the nightstand where her phone is charging. The table is all dark wood and hard angles—and she realizes, with a sudden shock, that it isn’t hers.

Alarmed, she pats around beside her, and…

These soft sheets—dark sheets; not the bright lilac sheets she normally sleeps on—are not hers, either. This massive  _ bed _ isn’t hers.

Rey opens her eyes wide, to a dark room that is  _ definitely  _ not her bedroom in the apartment she shares with Finn. 

She sits bolt upright in bed, heart hammering like a jackhammer inside her ribcage.

She is well on her way to a full-blown panic attack before the events of the past twenty-four hours come slowly trickling back.

She... got married yesterday. 

To Ben Solo. 

This isn’t her apartment. But that’s okay, because it’s Ben’s. Well—technically, it  _ is _ hers now, too. For the time being anyway.

Rey closes her eyes and lets out a slow breath before burying her face in her hands. It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.

Rey licks her lips, noticing with a grimace how parched she is. She remembers the fridge in Ben’s kitchen, stainless steel and complete with an automatic ice maker and a place where you can put your glass and cold water pours out. She’s never lived somewhere that had a fridge that could make you a glass of water before. 

_ Well _ , she thinks.  _ No time like the present to see what  _ that _ ’s like. _

Rey leaves her room quietly—no need to wake Ben in his bedroom across the hall just because she’s thirsty—and slowly makes her way to the kitchen. It’s pitch black throughout the entire apartment, and she moves down the hallway half-blind, feeling carefully along the walls for a lightswitch.

She’s halfway to the kitchen when she hears a soft moan coming from behind Ben’s closed bedroom door a few feet behind her. She freezes, her ears pricking and extra-sensitive in the dark. 

He sounds... hurt.

Alarmed, Rey turns towards his bedroom. 

But then she hears another moan—a louder moan this time, and longer, Ben’s voice going ragged at the end of it—and Rey then realizes, with a sudden jolt, what’s going on in there.

She should run into the kitchen quickly and get that glass of water. Or—she should hurry back to her bedroom and close the door behind her and pretend she never heard anything at all. Really, she should do just about  _ anything _ other than what she’s doing right now—which is standing rooted to the spot in the middle of Ben Solo’s hallway, unable to stop listening as her new husband jerks off.

Rey wonders, before she can stop herself, if he’s watching porn on his phone. She’s done that herself a few times, always with the volume turned off so Finn wouldn’t hear. If Ben  _ is _ watching porn, what kind is it? Is it vanilla porn, featuring a man and a woman who love each other very much—or is it something... kinkier? 

Another throaty moan from Ben cuts into her thoughts, and Rey has to bite her lower lip to try and keep herself grounded. To stop herself from imagining what he must look like in there, his pants down to his ankles, his giant fist wrapped tightly around his cock.

She wonders if his cock is as big as the rest of him.

No.

_ No _ .

This is... wrong.

They have an arrangement, the two of them. This is a total invasion of privacy. And she is  _ not _ doing this.

Rey shakes herself a little to clear her head, and runs back to her bedroom.

She lies awake for a long time after that, the sound of Ben’s soft moaning still ringing in her ears.

* * *

Rey wakes again a few hours later to the unmistakable smell of bacon, eggs, and coffee wafting into her bedroom. She rolls over and looks at her phone, bleary-eyed, blinking at the display that says it’s only six-fifteen in the morning.

There has to be some law against being awake and alert enough this early in the morning to make a full breakfast. Especially on a Sunday. But her stomach doesn’t seem to mind. It rumbles, loudly and insistently, as she pulls on her bathrobe and shuffles her feet into her bunny slippers.

The sight waiting for her when she gets to the kitchen makes her jaw drop.

She’s long known that Ben Solo has a good body. Anyone with eyes in their head can see  _ that _ . But it’s one thing to know, in the abstract, that the person you have somewhat unexpectedly become celibate roommates with is built like a brick house—and another to see him wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts in his kitchen, frying up bacon in front of the stove.

She stares at him, at the way the muscles of his back flex as he lifts the spatula and easily twirls it between his large fingers. If this were a real marriage obviously she would be entitled to look her fill—and more—without remorse. But this isn’t a real marriage. This is an unusual contractual arrangement between acquaintances. He’s doing her a  _ favor.  _ It’s bad enough that she overheard him in his bedroom last night in what he’d obviously thought was a private moment. He doesn’t deserve her staring at him like this, too. 

By the time Rey finally manages to tear her eyes away from her new husband’s body, shame has begun to flood her cheeks. Does he always walk around the apartment without a shirt? The idea of waking up to  _ this _ every single day both excites and terrifies her. But she doesn’t have the energy to unpack those mixed feelings right now.

She clears her throat in an attempt to clear her head. At the sound of it, Ben freezes. 

“Rey,” he says, sounding surprised. “Um. Good morning.” His turns to face her, and his eyes trail down the front of her body before quickly darting away again—but not before Rey sees the way his gaze lingers a beat too long on her chest. She isn’t wearing a bra this morning, and the apartment is chilly. She can feel her nipples pressing up against the thin fabric of her t-shirt—and Ben, apparently, has noticed.

A strange, unexpected, and completely inappropriate thrill shoots down her spine at the realization that her body,  _ her _ breasts, made him—still a near stranger to her—react that way.

She reflexively pulls her robe a little tighter around herself. Maybe this arrangement is going to be more complicated than she thought it would be.

As she ponders this, Ben turns away from her again and gets back to poking at the eggs on the stove. But he can’t quite hide how pink the tips of his ears have gone.

“I… um. I didn’t think you’d be up so early,” he says. He sets down the spatula he’d been holding on small ceramic coaster. The stovetop and counters are just as spotlessly clean and uncluttered as the rest of the apartment. She thinks of how messy her kitchen in her old apartment would get whenever she and Finn made nachos, and wonders if her tendency towards being a bit sloppy will drive Ben insane. 

“I’m… going to get dressed,” he adds, before practically running out of the room. 

Rey stifles a giggle in her palm as she hears his bedroom door slam shut. 

Ben reappears in the kitchen five minutes later wearing a white t-shirt and grey sweatpants slung low on his hips

“I’m not used to having someone else around first thing in the morning,” he explains, a little sheepishly.

“So you usually walk around your apartment half-naked?” Her intent had only been to tease him a little, but she cringes a little at how suggestive they sound spoken out loud. If Ben’s cheeks were pink before he left to get changed they’re the color of overripe tomatoes now.

“No.” He pauses. “I don’t. I just don’t always remember to…”

He trails off. Shakes his head.

“You don’t always remember to what?” Rey asks.

“Never mind,” he mutters. Rey almost presses him further, but in the end decides to drop it. This whole situation is weird and hard for him, too. 

“Everything smells delicious.” Rey leans forward over the stove and hums appreciatively. “What’s the occasion?”

Ben looks at her. “What do you mean?”

“This,” she says, gesturing to the food he’s preparing. “A fancy breakfast, early on a Sunday morning. What’s the occasion?”

He stares at her uncomprehendingly for a moment. “Fancy?”

“Well, you aren’t pouring cereal out of a box,” Rey says. “You aren’t pulling something pop-tart-like out of the freezer.” She looks around for the coffee maker that has to be around here somewhere, based on how this room smells. “You’re actually heating up real food in real frying pans on a real stove. That’s fancy to me.”

“Please don’t tell me you eat pop tarts, Rey.” A look of genuine revulsion crosses his face. 

She glares at him. “What’s wrong with pop tarts?”

“Everything’s wrong with pop tarts.”

“Well… okay. Maybe,” she concedes. “But they’re delicious. And not all of us have fancy kitchen gadgets to cook with.”

“I got this rubber spatula at Target.” He nods at the frying pan. “I got that pan at Bed Bath and Beyond.”

She huffs. “You know what I mean.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t believe you’re impressed with bacon and eggs. And here I was, feeling guilty about not doing anything special for our first morning together as a married couple.” He pulls down two plates from an overhead cupboard and begins dishing up food. “I didn’t even get the chance to roast tomatoes to go with the eggs.”

Rey adopts a look of mock outrage. “No roasted tomatoes? Why I do declare.” 

He rolls his eyes. “Go sit down.”

She complies. He brings over the plates a moment later, heaping with food, and sits down across the table from her. 

“I wanted to do something nice for you this morning,” he explains, very quietly. “I know this arrangement is… probably not what you imagined for yourself when you imagined getting married.”

Rey picks up a fork and begins poking at her eggs so she doesn’t have to look at Ben as he talks. Marrying him for a green card was one thing. But this conversation feels like it’s veering straight for the emotional and confessional. And Rey did not come prepared.

“I know eggs and bacon and coffee isn’t much,” he continues. “But I do know how to cook. And I’m good at it.” He shrugs, and begins taking small bites of his food. “If you tell me the kinds of things you like to eat for breakfast I’ll make them for you.” He pauses. “As long as they aren’t pop tarts. I’m not making that shit for you.”

Rey’s eyes go wide. “The things I like to eat for breakfast?”

“Yeah.” Ben gets out of his chair and makes his way to a cabinet Rey hadn’t noticed before. He opens it, revealing a hidden coffee maker full of dark, rich-smelling coffee. He pours it into two mugs that say  **Palpatine & Snoke** in big block letters. “I’m not home much at night, but I always eat breakfast here. So…”

He looks at her expectantly.

“I... normally either skip breakfast totally or just, like...” She trails off, feeling a little sheepish, and takes a bite of her eggs. They melt on her tongue. Delicious. She takes another bite, and then another. “Or else I’ll just, like, grab a donut or something on the way to the CTA.”

Ben scowls at her.

“That’s terrible,” he says. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

Rey snorts. “You sound like a public service announcement from 1982.”

“A  _ correct  _ public service announcement from 1982.”

Rey giggles at that. Ben looks away, his cheeks going pink again.

“Let me make you breakfast, Rey,” he says a moment later, very quietly. “It’s... the one thing I know how to do.”

She looks at Ben for a long moment, taking in his downcast eyes, the way his shoulders are hunched and tense as he waits for her answer.

She nods.

“Yeah,” she says. No one’s ever wanted to feed her before. “I’d like that.”

He gives her a shy smile, so sincere and warm it twists something deep inside she doesn’t have a name for. 

“So,” Rey says, staring at her plate and poking at her eggs. He’s still looking at her, and she’s starting to feel incredibly flustered from the attention. She can’t bring herself to meet his eyes.  _ Neutral topic. Think of a neutral topic _ . “How did you learn to cook this well?”

His smile slips a little. “You sound surprised.”

“Not surprised,” Rey counters. “Just…”

He peers at her. “Just what?”

“Okay,” Rey concedes. “Fine. I guess I am a  _ little _ surprised.” She chances a glance at him. Fortunately, he’s looking down at his plate now, not at her.

“Why?”

Rey thinks for a moment. “I think it’s just hard for me to imagine you doing anything other than working.” She pauses. “Or like… glaring at people and being intense. Or throwing things when you get mad, like that time you threw the printer across the moot court room and it smashed into a thousand pieces.”

“That printer was a piece of shit,” he mutters. He leans back a little in his chair and runs a hand through his hair. It’s so much shaggier than usual, first thing in the morning. The tips of his ears peek out a little when he hasn’t put any product in it yet. It’s oddly endearing. “I was doing the law school a favor.”

Rey shakes her head. “Somehow I doubt that. But it doesn’t matter. All I meant was there’s clearly there’s more to you than working all the time and intimidating people.” She nods at her plate. “Ben, seriously—this is delicious.”

He must hear something something unexpected in her voice as she says the words, because just as Rey turns back to her food Ben’s face goes through a strange sort of metamorphosis. The shy, reserved looks he’s been sending her way all morning melt into something else. Something warmer, something Rey can’t quite put a name to.

And then without another word, Ben abruptly gathers up his dishes and scoots his chair back from the table, its legs scaping loudly against the tile floor.

“I’m... gonna go for a run,” he mutters, putting his dishes in the sink. “I’ll see you later?”

His voice rises at the end of the sentence like it’s a question—as though he isn’t sure whether she’ll still be here when he gets back. 

“Yeah,” Rey says, a little bewildered at his sudden change. She nods, even though his back is turned and he can’t see her doing it. “You will.”

By the time she looks up from her plate again he’s already gone. 

* * *

———————-

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

From: Rey J. Niima [ [ rey.niima@ilsla.org ](mailto:rey.niima@nylsi.org) ] 

To: Kaydel C. Connix [ [ kaydel.connix@ilsla.org ](mailto:kaydel.connix@nylsi.org) ] 

Subject: name change

——————————————

Dear Kaydel,

I’m writing to begin the process of having my name changed on all ILSLA paperwork (paychecks, etc.). As I told you last week, I got married over the weekend. I’m still in the process of changing it everywhere else but my new, married name is Rey Solo and I thought you should have it right away.

I will scan and email you my marriage certificate once I send off this email. Please let me know if there’s anything else HR needs to process this. 

Yours,

Rey J. Solo

Staff Attorney

Illinois State Legal Aid—Chicago

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Rey reads over the email to Kaydel twice before deciding it’s good enough and hitting send.

_ Rey Solo. _

It’s going to take a lot of getting used to, being Rey Solo—though not because she has any strong emotional attachment to  _ Niima,  _ or any fond memories about the people who gave her that name. But she’s been Rey Niima all her life, and twenty-six years is a long time to be one thing. Becoming something else _ — _ which, in some ways, is what changing her name feels like _ — _ is going to be an adjustment. 

This email to Kaydel is just the beginning of what will be a gruellingly lengthy process, all designed to show the U.S. Government that she is married to a U.S. citizen and entitled to stay. This one, at least, was easy enough. Kaydel likes her, and it’s just a matter of filling out a few forms to get her name changed. 

It’s only going to get harder from here.

When Rey looks up from her computer Finn is leaning up against the wall of her cubicle, looking down at her with his arms folded tight across his chest.

“So,” he says, his tone too casual. “How was your weekend?” His eyes flick to hers before he looks away again, smirking a little.

“Fine,” Rey says, pretending she doesn’t know what he’s  _ really _ asking her. Finn knows she has no intention of consummating this fake marriage. He’s too gentlemanly to ask prying, leading questions about it on his own, so Rey’s almost positive Poe put him up to this. 

She doesn’t have the energy for it right now. So she changes the subject.

“When would be a good time for me to pick up the rest of my stuff?” she asks. “Ben says he can help me move it, so…”

Finn’s eyebrows go up. “He’s going to help you move?”

“He  _ is _ my husband.”

“I know that. It’s just…”

Rey looks at him. “It’s just what?”

Finn sighs, and shakes his head. “I don’t know. It’s just… it’s just all so weird. All of it.”

“I know. I know, it’s… super weird.” She pauses, and bites her lip. “But he’s… I don’t know.” She shakes her head. “He’s... a nice guy.”

“Really? He is?” 

“Yeah. He... actually kind of is. Or at least... he can be.” Rey thinks about how he carried her over the threshold on their wedding night, and how he’d cooked her breakfast just because he’d wanted to do something nice for her on the first day of their marriage. 

(She refuses to think about how good he’d smelled when she was in his arms, or how incredible he’d looked dressed in nothing but his boxers. And she absolutely, steadfastly refuses to think about those sounds she heard from his bedroom the other night. Finn doesn’t need to hear about any of that. And god knows she’s been having way too hard time thinking about anything else as it is.) 

“I’m glad he’s nice, at least.” He gives her a small smile. “That’s something, I guess.”

Rey smiles back at her best friend. “Yeah,” she says. “It’s something.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Finn moves around them snapping pictures—as Ben looks into her eyes and she finds herself drowning in his—Rey can’t help but wonder if it would really be such a bad thing, kissing Ben.

“What are you doing?”

Rey pauses in the careful application of double-sided tape to the back of her new poster. Ben is standing in the doorway to the apartment with his arms folded across his chest, an incredulous expression on his face as he stares at her.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Rey thinks this poster—featuring a chubby orange tabby cat playing with a ball of yarn—will look great right above the dining room table. When she’d complained to Finn about how her new apartment needed some livening up he’d been all too happy to help her out. 

This poster he found for her at Goodwill given is  _ perfect. _

“It  _ looks _ like you’re about to hang something hideous on the walls,” Ben says, sounding half horrified, half amused. He moves further into the room and stands behind her to get a better look. He shakes his head in disgust. “Seriously?”

She holds it up to him. “It’s cute!” She looks back at the poster. “I think you—I mean, I think  _ we _ —need more color in this apartment.”

“No we don’t.”

“We  _ do _ ,” Rey insists. She gestures to the room around them—to the walls, totally blank save for the windows. “This apartment is beautiful but it’s a little creepy how…  _ bare  _ it is.”

He shrugs. “It’s neat. It’s uncluttered. It’s functional.”

“It’s _ boring _ .”

“Maybe I like boring.” Ben sets his briefcase down by the front door and toes off his shoes. He’s still in the suit and tie he left the apartment in twelve hours ago, but instead of shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it up in the coat closet like he usually does when he gets home he makes his way into the kitchen. “Boring is simpler.”

Rey juts out her chin, stubborn. “Ben,” she says. “I’ve been living here for a week. And this place looks basically the same as it did before we got married.”

No answer comes from the kitchen. Rey hears Ben open, and then close, one of the cupboards above the sink, followed by the sound of cold water pouring out of the tap on the fridge.

“I want to feel more at home here,” she goes on. “And… well, when the government comes to visit it should look like we  _ both _ live here, don’t you think?”

When Ben emerges from the kitchen a moment later he has the decency to look a little sheepish.

“Okay,” he says, sighing. He takes a sip of water before carefully setting the glass down on a coaster on the dining room table. “Fine. You can hang it up.”

Rey grins at him. “Good.”

“Do I get a say on where it goes?”

Rey narrows her eyes. “Yes, but only if you don’t say  _ in the closet _ .”

Ben stares at her for a moment, blinking, trying to maintain a serious expression. Eventually, though, he breaks, and the corners of his lips turn up in a small smile.

He huffs out a laugh. “You… read my mind.” His voice comes out soft and warm, and the look he’s giving her…

Well.

She doesn’t know what to do with it  _ at all _ .

He’s been…  _ looking _ at her like that more and more often the past few days. Nothing she can really put her finger on, nothing she could really describe if someone asked her about it. Usually she only catches it out of the corner of her eye, when she’s focused on something else. By the time she turns to face him directly Ben’s attention is already elsewhere.

He’s giving it to her straight on now, though. It makes her feel… warm. And special. Like she’s something  _ important _ to him, and not just an acquaintance he’s helping through a difficult time. 

The way he’s been acting lately is making everything so… confusing.

He’s still looking at her when she turns her back on him to hang the poster above the table. She can feel his eyes on her as she slides her hands along the paper to smooth it to the wall.

“It’ll grow on you,” Rey says, once she’s finished. Just for something to say, and to cut the growing, palpable tension in the room. Her face is getting very warm, despite the fact that it’s a chilly day in October and they keep the heat in the apartment turned down low. 

“Somehow I doubt that.” Ben moves closer to her, and peers at the cat over her shoulder. She can feel his breath against the top of her head. Rey closes her eyes against it, refuses to think about how  _ nice _ it feels, having him close. “It looks...  _ really _ stupid.”

That cuts the tension like a knife. Rey can’t help but laugh in spite of herself. She looks over her shoulder, up at Ben. He’s no longer looking at her or the poster, but rather down at his shoes. The tips of his ears are turning pink.

“We’re keeping it up even if you never stop hating it,” she says. “I’m serious, Ben.”

He shrugs. “If you want.” He moves away from her, heading towards one of the couches in the living room. Suddenly, everything about the energy in the room shifts. Rey notices, for the first time, that Ben looks utterly exhausted. 

He sits down heavily on the sofa and lets out a long, slow breath, before leaning forward, elbows on his knees, and burying his face in his hands.

Rey watches him for a long moment, not knowing what to do.

When what feels like entire minutes pass without him saying anything else she takes the plunge.

“Is… everything okay?” she asks, tentative.

Talking about their feelings isn’t something they do. But he’s just  _ sitting _ there, looking miserable. Obviously something is wrong.

At her question he drops his hands from his face, letting them fall to the couch.

“Work is…” he begins, then trails off, sighing. “Terrible.”

Rey crosses the room and sits down beside him on the couch. Up close he looks even more exhausted. Dark circles ring his eyes, making his already pale complexion look downright pallid.

“Is there anything I can do?” Every instinct Rey has is telling her to take his hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. But in addition to not talking about feelings... they also don’t touch each other. Or at least, they haven’t touched each other since that first night when he carried her over the threshold. 

Although with the looks he’s been giving her lately, she’s beginning to suspect Ben wouldn’t mind it if she  _ did _ hold his hand right now. But his hand sits immobile beside him on the couch, and her courage doesn’t stretch far enough for her to even think about making that leap on her own.

Instead, she clenches her own hands into tight fists to resist the temptation to touch him.

He shakes his head. “There’s nothing you can do.” Ben sighs. “Not unless you can turn back time and prevent me from taking this soul-sucking job in the first place.”

She raises an eyebrow. “It’s not too late to leave you know.”

At her words, Ben closes his eyes and leans back against the sofa again.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “It is.”

They sit together in silence for a long moment after that, the only sounds in the room coming from their quiet breathing and from the grandfather clock in the corner of the room.

“Well,” Ben says, after what feels like a very long time. “Shall we get ready for Finn?” 

“Finn?”

“The pictures,” Ben says. He stands up and stretches, reaching his long arms high over his head. He closes his eyes and leans over to one side a little, making a small popping sound in his lower back. “We’re meeting Finn so he can take some pretend romantic photos for us tonight. Remember?” He gives her a small, sad smile. “It’s the reason I came home from work before nine p.m.”

“Oh! That’s right,” Rey says, suddenly remembering. They have to get their initial paperwork in to the government soon, which will include a joint statement describing how they met and a series of pictures documenting their relationship. Finn’s phone takes decent enough pictures and he reluctantly agreed to help them out with this when Rey asked. 

Rey stands and starts looking around the living room for her purse. “How much time do we have?”

Ben pulls out his phone and checks the time. “An hour.” He gives Rey an odd look out of the corner of his eye. “I can drive us if you want.”

Rey has never been inside Ben’s car before, though she knows it’s some kind of Lexus. He seldom drives it, given that they live in the center of town and he commutes by train into the Loop. 

She’s never been inside a Lexus before, either. 

She shrugs, and says, “Sounds good to me.”

* * *

“Here?” Ben asks.

Finn closes one eye and squints at him, angling his head a little to the right as he considers the scene.

“Yeah,” Finn says, slowly, nodding. “Yeah. I think this works.” Finn holds his phone up to his eye and holds it there a moment before dropping his hand back down by his side. He glances at Rey, who’s standing beside him and trying to pretend she isn’t staring at how well Ben fills out his suit. 

“Go stand next to him,” Finn says, gesturing to Ben. “It’s time to recreate the magical night Ben proposed.” 

Finn can’t quite keep the sarcasm out of his voice but she decides to ignore it. He’s doing them a big favor, after all.

“Thanks for helping with this,” Rey says, smoothing down the front of her skirt. She goes over to Ben, who’s standing beneath a street lamp that’s a well-known spot on campus for engagement pictures. 

Ben—who is still dressed for work in his immaculately tailored suit and tie.

He looks good in that suit. Really good.  _ Too _ good, if she has any hope of keeping the memory of him standing in the kitchen in just his boxers, or of the looks he’s been giving her every time he thinks she can’t see him doing it, out of her head. But it doesn’t matter how good he looks, because he  _ can’t _ be dressed like a ruthless biglaw attorney for this. Not when they’re trying to recreate a romantic scene they’re planning to tell the government happened over a year ago.

Most people don’t wear the clothes they wear to annihilate court opponents to propose to their girlfriends.

“You need to ditch the jacket and tie,” Rey tells him.

Ben raises a skeptical eyebrow. He’s already standing really close to her, but he steps even closer and wraps an arm around her waist, ready to play the part of the besotted boyfriend. He pulls her to him, his fingers pressing gentle and warm at the top of her hip. He rests his cheek on top of her head; her breath catches when she feels the faint scratch of his stubble against her scalp.

“Why do I need to ditch the jacket and tie?” he murmurs. His lips are so close she can feel his words on her forehead. She shivers, for reasons having nothing to do with the cool night air.

“Because this… this is where you proposed to me,” she says.

“It isn’t.”

“Ben.”

“I  _ like _ wearing a jacket and tie,” he grumbles. “It makes me feel… I don’t know.” He trails off.

She pulls back a little to look at him. He’s looking at the ground, avoiding her gaze.

“It makes you feel what?”

“Nevermind,” he mutters. “I’ll... take them off if you want me to.” 

He reaches up to undo his tie _ — _ but then Rey has a better idea.

“Wait,” she says. “Stop.” She covers his hands with hers. She’s surprised to discover that his hands are trembling.  _ He must  _ really _ not want to pose for these pictures. _ “Let me do it.”

His eyes narrow. “I know how to take off my own tie, Rey.”

“I know that,” she says. “It’ll make for a great picture, though.”

“What?”

“Just _ — _ move your hands.” She looks up at his face and _ — _ she  _ really _ wishes she knew what he was thinking right now. His eyes are wide as saucers as they stare back at her—but his face is blank, expressionless, giving nothing away. 

“What… what are you doing?” he asks, his jaw clenched.

“Let me do this,” she says. “For the pictures.”

A beat passes where neither of them say anything. And then, Ben huffs out a loud, irritated breath. 

“Fine,” he mutters. His hands slip free of her grasp and fall to his sides. “You do it, then.”

Rey knows very little about how men’s ties work, though when she used to help Finn get ready for interviews she learned that undoing one is much easier than tying one on in the first place. She quickly undoes the top button of Ben’s starched white dress shirt, and then clumsily begins undoing the knot of his necktie. She can see Ben’s pulse beating away just beneath the skin of his throat, and she watches it jump, transfixed, as she fumbles with the tie.

“Take pictures of this,” she tells Finn.

“Yup,” Finn says. “I’m one step ahead of you. But like _ — _ could the two of you look happier, or something?”

Rey pauses. “Happier?”

“Yeah. You both look terrified.”

Rey glances up at Ben’s face. She has no way of knowing what she looks like right now, of course _ — _ but Finn is certainly right about Ben. His dark brown eyes are wide, wild, the expression on his face akin to what you might expect on a man facing a firing squad.

“How about we... smile at each other?” she proposes, staring at her hands and at the place where they rest on his throat. Her tanned hands stand out in sharp relief against his pale skin. “We’re in love. You’re about to propose marriage to me, and _ — _ and I’m helping you with your tie.” She swallows, and chances another look up at his face. “It’s fun. We’re... having fun.”

Ben swallows as he processes her words.

“Smile at each other,” he repeats. “Having fun.” 

“Yeah,” Rey says. “Smiling. Having fun. You know _ — _ things you sometimes do when you’re with people you enjoy.”

He blinks down at her. “I don’t enjoy people.”

“I know you don’t,” Rey says, starting to get exasperated. “But could you just _ —” _

The rest of what she’d been about to say dies on her lips as a warm, earnest smile spreads slowly across Ben’s face. In fact, calling it a smile doesn’t do it justice. 

Ben Solo _ — _ the man who hates Halloween, the guy who drinks kale smoothies every morning for breakfast _ — _ is  _ beaming _ at her. The look in his eyes right now would outshine any sun.

“Perfect!” Finn exclaims. She can hear him moving around as he snaps shot after shot with his phone. “That’s it, that’s exactly it.”

Rey’s hands can’t seem to stop shaking as she finishes undoing Ben’s tie.

“Is this… is this okay?” Her voice is barely above a whisper as she slides the strip of fabric out from his shirt collar. She reaches up to slip his suit jacket off his shoulders, but as soon as she makes contact with them he’s covering her hands with both of his.

He pulls her closer.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “It’s okay.”

And as Finn moves around them snapping pictures—as Ben looks into her eyes and she finds herself drowning in his—Rey can’t help but wonder if it would really be such a bad thing, kissing Ben. His lips were so soft when he kissed her the day they got married, just a barely-there brush of his mouth against hers. 

What would that lush mouth of his feel like if he kissed her for real?

Before she can talk herself out of doing it—before she can remind herself that, really, this is a  _ terrible _ idea—Rey stands on her tiptoes and presses her lips to his.

The effect this has on Ben is immediate and electric. His hands clutch at hers, fingers digging hard into her hands almost to the point of pain. But if he’s surprised by her actions he recovers quickly, his strong arms going around Rey’s waist a moment before he pulls her even closer into his body. She can feel the shape of the smile he’s breathing against her lips, can taste the coffee he must have had on his way home from work this evening _ — _ and she shocks herself at how easy, how  _ natural  _ it is to open for him when he tentatively traces her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. He rewards her with a quiet, perfect sound deep in the back of his throat that sets fire to Rey’s bloodstream in a way that is entirely unexpected. 

When he strokes at her tongue with his own, something inside her goes suddenly liquid, and her arms around his shoulders clutch harder so she does not fall.

“Perfect!” Finn shouts from somewhere close by. But Rey can barely hear him, lost as she is in the feel of Ben’s mouth slanting over hers. She smooths her hand down his chest until it rests just over his heartbeat, and she revels in how it feels, steady and sure, beneath her palm. 

But the sound of Finn’s voice seems to bring Ben to his senses and remind him of what this kiss really is. He abruptly pulls back from Rey just as she moves closer to deepen the kiss, leaving her gasping.

He stares at Rey a long moment, pupils so fat his eyes are nearly black. He’s breathing a little too hard, but she’s pretty sure she is, too.

And then—her mind still reeling, every nerve ending in her body alive and firing—Rey says the first stupid thing that pops into her head.

“I bet those pictures are going to turn out great.”

Rey knows she’s made a terrible mistake the second the words are out of her mouth. But it’s too late to take them back now. All at once, Ben’s face, his posture _ —everything— _ changes. His shoulders slump. The smile like sunshine is gone, his face as expressionless and walled off as she’s ever seen it. 

He wrenches his eyes away from Rey and turns to look at Finn.

“Will these pictures work?” he asks him tersely.

Finn shrugs. “I mean, I don’t work for the government,” he hedges. “But watching the two of you, I’m convinced.”

Ben nods once, curtly. He reaches up and quickly redoes his tie.

“Good,” he says, finishing the knot. “I… have to get going.” He glares at Rey. “Shall we?”

Without waiting for her to answer him Ben strides off in the direction of his car, leaving Rey in a turmoil of muddled thoughts.

* * *

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_ From: Rey J. Solo [ _ [ _ rey.niima@google.com _ ](mailto:rey.niima@google.com) _ ]  _

_ To: Mon K. Mothma [mmothma@cityofchicago.gov] _

_ Subject: Staff Attorney position _

_ —————————————— _

_ Dear Ms. Mothma, _

_ I am writing to express my keen interest in the Staff Attorney position currently available with the City of Chicago.  _

_ For the past six months I have been working as a Staff Attorney at ILSLA’s Chicago office. In my position at ILSLA I have been responsible for— _

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

* * *

Rey frowns, and looks up from the email she’s in the middle of composing at the sound of someone hammering away at the front door of their apartment. 

Ben left for the office in a moody huff about an hour ago after spending the entire car ride home with her in strained, awkward silence. It hurts to know he’s working so hard in a job he obviously hates _ — _ and it hurts even more to think that right now, he’s probably using work as a way to escape spending time with her. 

When he left the apartment tonight, Rey decided to throw her anxiety over whatever it was that happened between them tonight into drafting a cover letter for this City of Chicago job. If what Career Services told her about jobs at the City of Chicago is accurate _ ,  _ if she lands this it will almost certainly cover her work Visa. 

The faster she can find a job that can do  _ that _ for her, the faster it will make all of her current problems disappear.

The knocking on the front door continues, growing louder the longer whoever’s out there waits for someone to answer the door. Rey frowns, a little worried. Who could it even be at nine o’clock on a Friday night? 

“Just a minute!” Rey shouts from her bedroom, even though they won’t be able to hear her from back here. She closes her laptop, then hurries into the living room as the pounding continues.

“Just a minute!” she says again, irritably, before grabbing the doorknob and yanking the door open.

Rey blinks, wide-eyed, at the older man and woman standing on the other side of it. 

“Oh!” the woman exclaims when she sees Rey. She takes a small, reflexive step back, hand at her throat. She’s probably about sixty years old and quite a bit shorter than Rey, with serious eyes and graying hair pulled back into a tight bun at the back of her head. 

“Well, well, well,” the older man beside her says. He’s smirking at Rey in a way that makes Rey more than a little uncomfortable. Not quite lecherous, but not far off from it either.

“Um,” Rey says. She looks back and forth between the man and the woman, utterly confused and hoping for some hint as to what’s going on and who these people are. They provide none. “Can I… help you?”

“I’m sure you can,” the man says, meaningfully, which earns him a very sharp smack on the arm from the woman beside him.

“Please ignore him,” she says, scowling at the man. “He’s incorrigible.” Without another word, she strides into the apartment like she owns the place. “Where’s Ben?”

Rey’s eyes go wide. “He’s… I mean, he’s at work.”

“On a Friday night?” The man—the woman’s husband, Rey assumes; though their body language suggests they aren’t too fond of each other _ — _ comes into the apartment without waiting for an invitation. He puts his arm around the woman, but she shrugs it off.

“Yeah,” Rey says. “On a Friday night. He… um. He works too hard.”

“That’s nothing new,” the older woman says, sounding a bit wistful. “He’s been a workaholic since he was a little boy.”

At that, everything clicks into place. 

_ God _ , she is slow.

“Are you… are you Ben’s parents?” she asks, feeling more awkward right now than she has at any other point in her life.

The woman breaks into a broad grin. “Indeed.”

Rey’s stomach twists unpleasantly at the confirmation. 

Rey has always known _ — _ vaguely, anyway _ — _ that Ben has parents. She figured she’d probably have to meet them  _ eventually _ . But Ben doesn’t have any pictures of them anywhere and never talks about them. When she imagined meeting them one day she always imagined it happening in a more controlled setting. Or at least, a setting where she knew they were coming and could prepare herself.

In this imaginary setting Ben was always there, too. And she knew his parents’ names. 

None of those things are true about the situation in front of her right now. She and Ben haven’t even talked about what they would  _ say _ to his parents when she inevitably met them. Ben is at the office, she’s wearing a junky t-shirt and old sweatpants—and she has no idea what to even call them.

Fortunately, if Ben’s parents also find this situation awkward they show no sign of it. Maybe Ben’s told them more about her than he’s told her about them. His mother politely extends a hand for Rey to shake. “I’m Leia Organa. And this—” she jerks her thumb towards the man— “is my furry oaf of a husband, Han.”

Rey takes Leia’s hand and marvels at how strong the older woman’s handshake is. 

“It’s… very nice to meet you both,” Rey says, hoping her voice isn’t shaking too badly.

But Leia isn’t looking at Rey’s face anymore. She’s clutching Rey’s hand like a vise, and staring down at the engagement ring Ben gave her when they got married.

“Padme’s ring,” Leia says, sounding—and looking—stunned. She looks up at Rey, eyes wide. “You’re... wearing my mother’s wedding ring.” She swallows, and Rey can almost see her mind racing as it tries to make sense of this unexpected situation. “Are you and my son  _ engaged, _ Rey?”

Han lets out a low whistle. “ _ Shit.  _ Kid’s done all right for himself.”

Leia shoots him a scandalized look. “Why on god’s green earth do I keep you around?”

Han mutters something in response that Rey can’t quite make out. But it doesn’t matter, because Leia is looking at her like she’s just received the shock of her life, and it is now abundantly clear to Rey that Ben hasn’t told his parents that he got married a week ago _ — _ or that she even exists at all.

Her heart clenches painfully in her chest at the concrete reminder that, truly—Ben views this situation as temporary as she does. Which is stupid reason to be upset, of course. Why shouldn’t he view it as temporary?

It _ is _ temporary. 

Fortunately, Rey is spared from having to answer Leia’s question by the distinct sound of Ben’s footfalls in the stairwell, jogging up the stairs as he takes them two at a time. 

“I forgot my briefcase,” Ben explains in a loud voice a half-second before he reaches the apartment landing _ — _ and sees the disaster waiting for him in his living room.

“Ben,” his mother says.

“Hey, kid,” says Han.

“Oh, my god,” Ben says, under his breath, eyes wide, looking very much like he wants the earth to open up and swallow him whole. His eyes dart from Rey, to his parents, and then back to Rey again. The keys he’d been holding fall out of his hands and clatter, loudly, to the floor. “Oh, my  _ god _ .”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben’s parents make their way to the spare bedroom. Rey’s bedroom. And suddenly, the reality of what she and Ben are going to have to do tonight comes crashing down around her.
> 
> His parents are spending the night.
> 
> In order to convince them that their marriage is real, she and Ben will have to share his bed tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your lovely kudos and comments! I’m delighted that you’re enjoying this story.
> 
> I was gifted two gorgeous pieces of art for this fic over the past week by [Skerft](https://twitter.com/simonethereylo/status/1200240269389643777) and [Alhena](https://twitter.com/AlhenaCrimson/status/1199789323811532801). I am blown away by their generosity and their talent!
> 
> Also, thank you so much to frak-all for finding the [cat poster](https://twitter.com/jeenonamit/status/1201160351913562112) Rey hung on the wall in the last chapter. I haven’t stopped laughing yet. It’s perfect <3

“What… what are you _ doing _ here?”

Ben stands in the doorway, hands twitching at his sides, mouth hanging open. His eyes are wide, terrified, as his gaze flits rapidly back and forth between Rey and his parents. 

This is the first time Rey has ever seen the unflappable Ben Solo in a state that closely resembles blind panic.

“We’re on a long layover on our flight back from Tokyo,” Leia explains. “Our flight to New York leaves from O’Hare in the morning. At first we were going to get a hotel room but it’s just been so long since we’ve _ seen _ you, Ben.” She looks at her husband, then back at Ben. “So we've decided to stay here with you tonight. We kept trying to call to let you know we were on our way but you didn’t pick up.”

“Stay _here? _Mom,” Ben says, in a voice half a register higher than his normal tone. “You... you should have tried texting me. Or email.” He runs a shaky hand through his hair. “You can’t just… you can’t just _ show up unannounced _like this, and—” 

“Oh, absolutely we can,” Leia insists, sounding exasperated. More than exasperated; she sounds almost angry. “You’re our son, Benjamin. We haven’t heard from you in six months. But never mind that right now.”

Ben stares at her. “What do you _ mean _ never mind that right now?”

Leia shakes her head, and then grabs him by the arm, pulling him out of the doorway and fully into the room. She’s at least a foot shorter than Ben is but it is abundantly clear that she wields all the power here.

“Ben,” she hisses, still clutching his arm. “When were you going to _ tell us _?”

Ben swallows, and his jaw works. He is staring down at his mother, refusing quite steadfastly to look in Rey’s direction. Rey can almost see the wheels of his mind turning as he tries to think of something—anything—to say to her. 

“Tell you what?” he tries, lamely.

His father lets out a loud bark of laughter.

Leia glares at him. “Han,” she says, warningly.

“Actually, I’d like to know that too,” Rey says. “When_ were _ you going to tell your parents about us?” She folds her arms across her chest and does her best to look mad. Which, in truth, isn’t that difficult. In the five minutes since Han and Leia arrived, and Rey realized Ben hadn’t told his parents a single thing about her, she’s come up with the skeletal beginnings of a plan. Its finer points will have to be worked out later—but from the shell-shocked look on Ben’s face she’s pretty sure Ben will go along with just about any life raft Rey is willing to throw him. 

Rey stares at him meaningfully before continuing. “When we eloped a week ago you _ told _ me you were going to _ tell _ them, sweetheart.” She shakes her head, and—trying to remember some of the rudimentary acting skills she picked up in her two semesters of drama back in university—tries to make herself cry. It doesn’t really work, but she _ does _ succeed in making herself feel sadder.

“Oh,” Ben says, after a pause that might be two seconds or ten minutes. He bends down slowly and picks up his keys from where he dropped them a moment ago. He tosses them absentmindedly into the cat-shaped ceramic bowl on the credenza—another of the little embellishments Rey has added to the apartment in her week of living here. “Right. I guess I just… forgot.”

“You _ eloped _ ?” His mother puts her hands on her hips. “With someone you never even _ told _ us about?”

Ben licks his lips, and takes a deep breath. His posture relaxes a little. The tension in his shoulders leaves him. He sees where Rey’s going with this.

He glances over at her, who gives him a small, almost imperceptible nod.

“Yeah,” Ben says. He shrugs, a little calmer now that he’s had a few minutes to process the nightmare he’s just walked into. “I eloped. Or, rather—Rey and I eloped.” 

Leia looks from Ben, to Rey, and back to Ben again. Ben’s eyes, though, never leave Rey’s face. He’s watching her very carefully—probably for a signal that he’s not saying anything that’s going to get them into any more trouble.

“But why didn’t you _ tell _us, honey?” Leia clutches at Ben’s arm again. She looks genuinely pained. “Don’t you think we would have wanted to be there?”

Ben closes his eyes, and pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

“If we’d told you,” he begins, his words clipped and precise, “you would have made it into a whole thing.”

“So?”

“_ So _ ?” Ben retorts. “Maybe I didn’t want marrying the girl I love to become part of your Senate race,” he says. “Maybe I want to keep Rey as far away from you and your… your _ everything _ as I can.”

Ben shrugs free of his mother’s grip. He crosses the room to where Rey stands and puts an arm around her. He’s trembling a little— with anger, or embarrassment; maybe both— and Rey leans into him, resting her head on his chest.

“In any event, I’m introducing you to her now,” he says. He looks down at Rey, and does his best to smile at her. But it looks more like a grimace of pain. “Mom, Dad—this is Rey. My wife.”

* * *

“Why didn’t you didn’t tell your parents we got married?”

They’re hiding out in the kitchen while Han and Leia noisily settle themselves into the spare bedroom. _ Rey’s _ bedroom, of course—but his parents can’t know that. By unspoken agreement Ben and Rey have decided they’ll be sleeping together in Ben’s room tonight. Somehow, they will have to convince his parents they’ve been doing so for weeks now.

An unopened bottle of Chardonnay sits on the counter in front of them. This, plus an ancient Heineken Ben has no memory of purchasing, are all they currently have in the apartment to offer Ben’s parents. Rey bites her thumbnail down to the quick as she watches Ben, pacing so rapidly she’s beginning to worry he’ll wear a hole in the floor. But at her question, he abruptly stops. 

He’s clenching his jaw so tightly he looks in danger of breaking a tooth. 

“Why do you _ think _ I didn’t tell them?” he snaps. 

Rey takes a step back, palms facing outward defensively. “Don’t be snippy with me,” she shoots back. “It isn’t my fault they didn’t know. It also isn’t my fault they showed up here without telling you.”

Ben stares at her for a long moment in silence, his nostrils flaring with irritation, or possibly even anger. Eventually, though, he closes his eyes, and lets his shoulders slump a little.

“I’m sorry,” he says, quietly. He runs a hand through his hair and lets out a long, slow breath. Then he leans forward, splaying his large hands against the edge of the kitchen counter and bracing his weight against it. 

Misery is pouring off of him in waves, and Rey has a sudden, nearly irresistible urge to put her hand on Ben’s shoulder. To try and comfort him, and reassure him that whatever’s currently going through his head, it’s all going to be okay. But she fights that urge because knowing that Ben hid the truth from his parents—and apparently planned to continue hiding it for god only knows how long—hurts. She doesn’t know why it hurts, and she doesn’t have the emotional or mental strength right now to _ ponder _ why it hurts. She only knows that it does. 

It hurts _ a lot. _

A small part of her can’t help but wonder if he’s embarrassed by her. He comes from such privilege—and then there _ she _ is. Someone who’s nothing, who comes from nothing, who in a few short months probably won’t even have a legitimate right to be in this country without his help. Why _ would _ he be eager to tell his parents what he’d just done?

Between the situation waiting for them outside this kitchen and the fraught way they left things after Finn’s photoshoot, Rey feels like an exposed nerve. A few hours ago she might have had the courage to touch him in a reassuring way; right now, she doesn’t even know if he would welcome it.

“Why didn’t you tell them, Ben?” she asks again, keeping her tone neutral. Fortunately, Ben seems to take the question better this time. 

_ Good _, she thinks. 

She’s entitled to know what’s going on.

“We... don’t exactly have a close relationship,” he mutters. “We don’t really talk. I don’t tell them much about my life.”

“Not even that you got married?” Families are new, uncharted territory for Rey. She knows that not all families are as close as Rose’s has always seemed—but even still, not telling your parents that you got married seems... extreme. 

“They wouldn’t understand,” he says flatly. “They don’t understand much about me. They never have.”

There’s a bitterness in his voice that sets Rey’s teeth on edge.

“At least you _ have _parents,” she mutters, before she can stop herself. It’s a petty thing to say. She knows that. But she’s still smarting from Ben’s lie of omission, and right now she’s feeling pettier than she’d like to admit.

He scoffs. “Trust me,” he mutters. “I’d be better off if I _ didn’t _ have parents.”

He couldn’t have hurt her any more than if he’d punched her in the gut. His words wash over Rey like a bucket of ice water; frigid, and just as shocking. All those sleepless nights Rey spent in foster homes and halfway houses, crying as quietly as she could as she wondered where her parents were and why they didn’t love her enough to stay with her, come rushing back, flashing before her eyes like strobe lights in Ben’s tastefully appointed kitchen. 

And here _ he _ is, sulking and morose, a man who has been given every privilege money could buy, who’s all but cut his parents out of his life simply because—if she’s understanding him correctly—he feels his parents don’t _ understand _ him.

“You… absolute asshole,” she seethes, hands clenching involuntarily into fists at her sides.

It’s clear that Ben had not anticipated his words would cause this reaction in her. Once the realization sets in, his eyes go soft as he moves towards her.

“Rey.” He shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut tight. “Fuck. I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

Rey doesn’t talk about her past much. When she does, she usually paints her childhood in very broad strokes: how she mostly grew up in a series of foster homes—some good, some not so good; how she had no one to put her through university so she did it herself, stringing shitty part-time jobs and scholarships together until she had enough to cover tuition and books.

She hasn’t told anyone the _ whole _story in many years. Not even Finn knows she was abandoned at a Tesco when she was four years old by parents whose faces she can no longer remember. She had been so young she hadn’t known either their full names or her address, no matter how many different ways the nice police officers had tried to help her remember. 

She hasn’t told anyone here the whole truth. But the way Ben’s looking at her right now, his dark eyes full of sympathy and regret, she has a feeling he’s figured most of the more salient points out.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, his voice so low Rey has to strain to hear it. “I... didn’t mean it.”

Rey looks away, refusing to let him see the tears she feels pricking at the backs of her eyes spill down her cheeks.

“Then what did you mean?” she mutters, sniffling a little.

“Mostly that my parents frustrate the fuck out of me,” he admits. “They always have. And if I told them we got married, they would… um.” He rubs at the back of his neck. “They would assume certain things about you—about _ us _—that aren’t true.”

That piques her interest. “Things that aren’t true?”

“Yeah.” After a moment’s hesitation Ben nudges at Rey’s hand with the edge of his pinky before resting his palm on top of hers. He looks at her, seeking silent permission. 

_ Are we okay _? his eyes ask.

She isn’t certain that they_ are _ okay. But his hand is big and warm, and suddenly every nerve ending in her body seems centered right on the place where they are touching. Rey’s hand is not small, but Ben’s much larger one dwarfs hers, makes her own hand look like tiny and petite in a way that sends strange, confusing shivers down her spine.

She nods wordlessly, her heart pounding in her ears. His hold on her hand tightens almost imperceptibly.

“What I mean is… my parents wouldn’t understand that that this isn’t real,” he continues, voice just above a whisper. She glances over at him and sees he’s not looking at her, or their joined hands—but rather down at his shoes.

“They wouldn’t?”

“No. And I mean—they couldn’t. We wouldn’t be able to tell them the truth.” He swallows, and runs his free hand over his face. “If I’d told them, they’d want to meet you right away. They’d…” He trails off.

He looks so distraught right now that on impulse, Rey flips her hand over and twines her fingers through his. If he’s surprised by this he doesn’t show it. On the contrary, he gives her hand a gentle squeeze, as though he’s trying to reassure her with the gesture. Or perhaps he’s simply seeking reassurance. 

Whatever the reason for it, it feels surprisingly good, surprisingly _ right _, holding hands with him like this.

“What would they do?” she prompts, when he doesn’t finish the thought.

“They’d be… really happy,” he murmurs. “They worry about me a lot. And although they drive me nuts, I don’t have it in me to make them happy like that only to snatch it away from them later when this inevitably…” 

He swallows. 

He doesn’t finish his sentence. But he doesn’t have to.

_ When this inevitably ends. _

A long pause settles between them after that. Because Ben’s right, of course. Once Rey’s immigration status is settled, they’ll wait some amount of time that won’t look too suspicious—and then they’ll separate. And then, they’ll get a divorce, and the rest of their lives can get started. 

It makes sense not to break anyone’s hearts in the process if it can be avoided.

But unfortunately, keeping Ben’s parents in the dark was never going to work. If they need to put on a convincing act for the neighbors Ben’s parents absolutely need to think they are legitimately married. The immigration officials will be checking with close family and friends. If Leia and Han had no idea they were married—if they’d never even _ heard _ of her—when the officials got in touch with them she’d be well and truly fucked.

“They _ have _ to know, Ben.” She squeezes his hand reassuringly to try and soften her words. “For this to work, they have to know. And they have to believe it’s real.”

Ben nods. “I know.” He looks at her. “I just… I guess I just figured we could cross that bridge when we got to it.”

“I think that bridge just showed up on our doorstep.”

He nods. “I know. I just…” He pauses. Closes his eyes. “I know.”

* * *

“So. Rey.” Leia Organa pushes her wine glass to the side and folds her hands together on the dining room table. “Tell us about yourself.” She fixes her with an unmistakable getting-down-to-business look and suddenly, Rey thinks she knows exactly what her opponents must see on the other side of the podium whenever she appears in court: a ruthlessly determined woman who will stop at nothing to get what she wants—and what she feels is right. Rey shivers a little in spite of herself, reminding herself that she will _ not _ let this woman intimidate her.

Rey takes a big swallow from her wine glass for a little more last-minute liquid courage. She dabs at her lips with a napkin, hoping that her face doesn’t betray how nervous she is right now. 

“I’m not sure there’s much to tell, Ms. Organa.”

“Leia,” the older woman corrects her. “We’re family now, after all. And I doubt there isn’t much to tell. You made our idiot son fall in love with you and somehow convinced him to finally settle down. I’m sure there’s a lot about you that I’d find fascinating.”

Rey glances over at Ben, sitting mutely beside her, studying his empty wine glass like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. He’s already finished his second glass of Chardonnay and they’ve only been sitting here for half an hour. 

Rey racks her brains for something suitable to tell Ben’s parents. In the end, she decides on benign truths. “Well... I graduated from law school six months ago, and now I’m in legal aid.”

Leia sits up a little straighter. “At CSLA? In the city?”

Rey nods. “Yes.”

“A good place,” Leia says approvingly. “With good people. Is Ackbar still the Executive Director?”

“Yes.” Rey stares down at her napkin, trying hard not to let her frustration with Ackbar over her Visa show. “He is.”

“Ackbar’s an old friend of ours,” Han says. He picks up the Heineken Ben found in the back of the fridge and takes a long drink from it of it before setting it back down on the table. “Or, he’s an old friend of Leia’s, anyway.”

Leia gives him a sharp look. “He likes you, too.”

Han smirks at her. “Sure he does.”

“Anyway,” Leia says, turning back to Rey and ignoring her husband. “We know Ackbar really well. He has a sincere commitment to the public interest that’s increasingly rare these days, given how desperate legal aid outfits are to secure funding dollars at the expense of staying true to their missions.”

Rey nods. No matter what her problems with Ackbar might be, his commitment—and the commitment of everybody in her office—to serving Illinois’ poor is unwavering and sincere. It’s one of the things that first attracted Rey to working there when she was a second year law student, and it’s what made her so excited to join them after graduating.

“Yeah,” Han mutters. “Not like the assholes our son works for.” 

At his father’s snide remark Rey can hear, _ feel _ Ben stiffen beside her. He reaches across the table for the nearly empty wine bottle and pours himself what’s left.

“Speaking of our son,” Leia says pointedly. She fixes Ben with a glare Rey has no doubt leaves experienced litigators quaking in their boots. “Can you tell me again why you neglected to mention that you were dating someone as wonderful as Rey for over a year, or that you got married a week ago?”

Underneath the table, Rey reaches blindly for Ben’s hand. Partly for show—the more affectionate they are with each other in front of Ben’s parents, the better, of course—and partly because she just… wants to. He lets her do it, lets her twine her fingers through his, just as easily as he’d done earlier in the kitchen. She’s surprised to find her hand is not the only one trembling.

“I told you,” he says, exasperated. “We were going to surprise you with it at Christmas.”

“But you got _ married _ , Ben.” Leia’s voice goes a little despondent. “You got _ married _. Didn’t it occur to you that your old mother might want to see her only son get married?” 

Ben doesn’t say anything in response to that. He takes another sip of wine, and tightens his grip on Rey’s hand.

“Please tell me you’ll let us throw you a proper reception.” 

“No,” Ben says, firmly.

Leia looks to Han, ignoring Ben. “Do you think Lando would let us have the club at a discount for a reception?”

“I don’t see why not,” Han says. “He owes me one.”

“Then it’s settled.” Leia says, her tone brooking no opposition.

“Mom—” Ben begins.

“Don’t you _ mom _ me.” Leia glares at him. “I don’t ask much.”

“That is _ not _ true.”

“All I ask,” Leia continues, as if Ben hadn’t spoken at all, “Is that my only child let us throw a reception for him and his lovely new wife so that the people who love him and have known him all his life can celebrate them.” She puts her elbows on the table and rests her chin on her hands. “Is that too much to ask?”

“We’d love to come,” Rey blurts out. Beside her, Ben goes very still. The hand holding hers tightens, almost to the point of pain. She ignores him. If she’s going to play the grateful daughter-in-law, might as well go all in. “When are you thinking?”

Leia’s entire demeanor changes, from stubborn frustration to pure delight. “The sooner the better,” she says. And then, turning to Han, she adds, “As soon as Lando can get us in.”

“He’ll make room for us,” Han assures his wife. “He’d do anything for Ben.”

Leia beams at Rey—pointedly avoiding, Rey notices, looking at her own son. 

“It’s settled then,” Han says, pounding a fist on the table. “All right… as good a time as it’s been, catching up with you lovebirds, I’m exhausted.” He turns to his wife. “Bed, Leia?”

At his father’s words, Rey feels Ben’s hand go rigid in her grasp.

Leia yawns as if on cue. 

“That sounds good to me,” she agrees. “I hardly slept at all on the flight from Tokyo.” 

His parents get up from their chairs, the sound of the chair legs scraping against the hardwood floor barely audible over the rapid beat of Rey’s own heart. “Goodnight, _ lovebirds _,” Han smirks at them, giving them a little wave.

Ben’s parents make their way to the spare bedroom. Rey’s bedroom. And suddenly, the reality of what she and Ben are going to have to do tonight comes crashing down around her.

His parents are spending the night.

In order to convince them that their marriage is real, she and Ben will have to share _ his _ bed tonight.

She swallows, and turns to face Ben. His expression is unreadable, his face a blank mask Rey can’t decipher.

But his hand is trembling in hers again, and despite his cool demeanor she has no doubt that right now, he is every bit as nervous as she is.

* * *

Ben’s bed is bigger than the one in the guest room. Which probably makes sense. His room is a lot bigger than hers, for one thing. For another, he’s a giant human who needs something at least king-sized just to accommodate his massive frame.

Rey brushes her teeth in the small master bathroom and stares at herself in the mirror. She’d snuck into her bedroom earlier, and grabbed her usual sleeping stuff from the dresser while Han and Leia were busy berating their son for getting married without them knowing about it. Her usual bedtime get-up—an ancient _ Wilco _ concert t-shirt she found years ago at Goodwill, and stripey pink sleep shorts—is super comfortable, and a far cry from anything Rey would consider _ sexy _. But now that she’s here in the bathroom off of Ben’s bedroom, and she’s staring at herself in the mirror a few minutes before literally, if not figuratively, hopping into bed with him, she’s starting to have serious second thoughts about this particular outfit.

The t-shirt is fine, if a bit ugly. But these sleep shorts…. 

Well. 

Finn never looked at her twice in them of course. But as she turns this way and that in front of the mirror, she suspects they might be a bit too short for the kind of sleeping situation she’s about to find herself in. They cover her ass, but only just. If she makes the wrong move they’ll ride up—and then both she and Ben will immediately regret every single decision they’ve made in their lives that have led them here.

Why didn’t she take a moment and think things through before grabbing this stuff earlier? Han and Leia are in there now, and Rey hasn’t heard a peep from them in over an hour. Certainly they’re asleep by now and would neither appreciate nor understand Rey coming in to get different, more modest pajamas. She’d have to give them a solid explanation that she doesn’t have and that she probably couldn’t pull off convincingly anyway. 

She can do this, though. It’ll be fine. Ben’s got a king-sized bed, which is plenty big enough for two people to share without touching. And if she’s wrong about that—Ben _ is _ quite big, after all— she’s sure Ben will be fine with constructing a barrier between them. With pillows, or something. 

In fact, given his practical mind, Ben will likely propose a barrier before she even has a chance. 

Her hands shaking a little more than she’d like, Rey takes a deep, steadying breath, and opens the door that leads from the master bathroom to the bedroom.

Her eyes nearly fall out of her head at the scene waiting for her.

Ben seems to have temporarily forgotten that he’s not sleeping alone tonight. Or he isn’t wearing a shirt, anyway. He’s standing with his bare back to her and fiddling with something on his nightstand; his phone, probably, though Rey can’t see what it is. He’s wearing boxers again—the same boxers she saw him wearing the morning he woke up early and made her bacon and eggs, from the looks of it—seemingly oblivious to the fact that his wife is standing less than ten feet away, staring at him.

He bends over at the waist to pick something up off the floor. His ass is… god. His ass is _ perfect. _His boxers ride up a little, and Rey’s mouth falls open at way the sturdy muscles of his thighs flex beneath the thin fabric of his shorts. 

He stands up, and turns. 

He looks at her, his dark eyes slowly drifting down from her face to her bare thighs and then back up again.

He swallows.

“Um,” he says. He fidgets a little. “Is this… is this okay?” He gestures to himself.

Rey wills her heart rate to slow. _ It’s more than okay, _ she thinks, before forcefully shoving that errant thought aside. “What do you mean?”

“What I’m wearing.” He closes his eyes. “I don’t… I don’t usually wear anything when I go to bed. It’s…” He opens his eyes again and Rey watches, fascinated, as his cheeks go from pale white to pink to something closer to crimson. “Pajamas aren’t comfortable for me. They’re too… constricting. I can’t sleep when I wear them.”

Rey swallows, hoping he can’t hear how much her heart rate has just sped up. This whole week, Ben—her attractive not-really-husband—has been sleeping just across the hall from her, totally naked. Which… is fine. Everything is fine. Except suddenly, nothing is fine at all, and before she can stop herself from doing it Rey starts to _ imagine _ what Ben must look like in here, all by himself, in bed. Wearing nothing.

Rey closes her eyes and reminds herself to get a fucking grip.

“Oh,” she manages.

“I’ll wear these tonight though,” he says in a rush, pointing at his boxers. “For you.” Maybe he notices her own color rising now; maybe not. Either way, by now his own cheeks are practically crimson. Rey glances down at his shorts, then immediately wishes she hadn’t because now all she can think about is how good he looks right now, in those shorts. And what he might be concealing beneath them. 

He’s massive everywhere else. It only seems fitting that he’d be massive _ there _, too.

She needs to look at his face, and _ only _ at his face, if she’s going to survive this. Maybe she should even keep her eyes closed altogether until morning.

“Okay,” she says.

Ben swallows.

“Okay,” he repeats.

He pulls down the covers of his bed with one hasty jerk of his arm. He looks at her expectantly. 

“Um. Which side do you…?”

It takes a minute for Rey to understand what he’s asking.

“Oh. Um, either side, I guess?” God, this is really happening. She’s really going to be sharing a bed with Ben Solo while his parents are sleeping just across the hall. She looks at the bed and her heart leaps into her throat when she sees Ben hasn’t set up any sort of pillow barrier at all.

Ben nods, not meeting her eyes. “Okay.” He quickly climbs beneath the covers and scoots all the way over to the far edge of the bed, rolling over onto his side so his back is to her. 

Nothing else to be done for it, Rey quickly follows suit, then shuts off the bedside lamp.

They lay beside each other in silence for what feels like hours. Ben isn’t moving—is hardly even _ breathing _—beside her, and Rey is so jittery, so acutely aware of his warm, solid presence just on the other side of the bed that already knows she isn’t going to sleep a wink tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your patience with this fic's slow burn will be rewarded soon <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She can feel it the moment he blinks awake. His breathing, all at once, quiets and changes, and his body tenses around hers as his mind tries frantically to catch up with what’s going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amazingly talented [curiousniffin](https://twitter.com/curiousniffin/status/1202772954649681921) and the incomparable [diasterisms/kylorenvevo](https://twitter.com/kylorenvevo/status/1194990573712625664?s=20) have made absolutely gorgeous moodboards for this story. Thank you both so much! <3
> 
> Next Wednesday is Erev The Rise of Skywalker (!!!!!!!). I’m going out of town for the movie so I might not be able to post an update as scheduled. If I'm not able to post next week, though, it’ll only be a one-week hiatus until I get my footing back under me. <3

After about an hour of fitful tossing and turning Rey decides to finally just give up on the idea of getting any sleep tonight.

Warm milk used to help sometimes back in university when the stress of juggling all her part time jobs and her studies got to be too much. She’s pretty sure she saw a carton of milk in the fridge and decides…

Well. Might as well give that old remedy another try. 

The only flaw in this plan, of course, is if she leaves this room she risks bumping into one of Ben’s parents en route to the kitchen. If _ that _ happens, she’ll have to explain to them what she’s doing prowling around the apartment in the middle of the night instead of screwing her new husband’s brains out like she _ should _ be doing, if she and Ben were normal newlyweds. 

But she’ll lose her mind if she lies here in the dark beside Ben for much longer. He’s sleeping so quietly, so peacefully beside her. The longer she lies her awake, the harder it’s getting for her not to move closer to him. Smooth her hands down his bare back. Run her fingers through his messy hair. 

All things considered, the possibility of bumping into Han or Leia in the hallway is the least of her concerns.

Her mind made up, Rey lets out a quiet huff and shoves the blankets down her legs.

“It wasn’t about you, Rey.”

Ben’s words—though quietly spoken—cut through the dead silence of the room like a knife. 

Rey rolls over to find Ben is lying on his side facing her—_ staring _ at her, really—his eyes two dark pools reflecting the dim street light from outside. He’s much closer to her than he was when they first got into bed, and she can’t make out his face very well in the dark—but by this point, she’s gotten to know his tells well enough that she’s almost certain he’s blushing.

She’s almost certain _ she _ is, too.

“What isn’t about me?” she asks. 

He takes a deep breath and lets it out, very slowly.

“The thing with my parents,” he says. “About how I didn’t tell them about us. Or about you.” He swallows audibly, and he moves a little closer. She is even more intimately aware of the fact that he isn’t wearing a shirt right now than she was a moment ago—which is _ really _ saying something. She tries to think of anything other than how little clothing he’s wearing, or of just how bare her legs feel now that they’re exposed. She tries to ignore how warm and enticing Ben smells—like leather, and his soap, the sweet minty toothpaste he must have used right before coming to bed. 

He licks his lips, and Rey’s eyes are drawn to the small movement. The memory of how soft, how pliant, his lips had been when they kissed for Finn’s camera flits irresistibly across her memory. 

God, had that actually been earlier tonight? It feels like it happened _ days _ ago.

He moves closer still, until their faces are just inches apart.

But as tempted as Rey is to close her eyes, to let the rest of the distance between them melt away until she has no choice but to press her lips to his, she knows that kissing him again, now, would be a terrible idea. 

He’s given no sign whatsoever that kissing her is something he actually wants when there aren’t cameras around to record it.

So she presses her lips into a tight thin line, moves minutely away from him in the bed, and tries to focus. 

“What are you trying to say, Ben?” Because she isn’t certain she knows what he’s getting at.

His jaw tightens. “Rey.” He moves closer again, and—to her shock and surprise—grabs her shoulders and pulls her roughly into his arms. After only a moment’s surprise and hesitation she allows herself to melt into his embrace. It feels... good. Dangerously good. Like warmth, and _ home _, and she knows she shouldn’t let herself enjoy this, she knows Ben’s only trying to comfort her after the stress of the past few hours. But it’s been a hell of a day, and just this once, she allows it. Allows his steady heartbeat beneath her ear to soothe her. Calm her down. 

“If this were real... ” His voice is just above a whisper, a deep rumble in his chest. “If this were real, I would have told them we got married right away.” He laughs softly, but there’s no humor in it. He presses his cheek to the top of her head, and she can feel each of his shaky exhalations of breath, so sweet and warm. “If this were real I might have even invited them to our wedding.”

Rey swallows, thinking she knows where he’s going with this, but not certain why her heart feels like it’s trying to beat its way out of her ribcage.

“But... it isn’t real,” she says, very slowly, the words causing a strange sort of pang in her chest.

He doesn’t reply right away. But then, a moment later, he shakes his head. 

“No,” he agrees lightly. “It isn’t real.”

“And so you’re not…” she pauses, tries to collect her thoughts.

“Rey. Listen to me.” His voice has gone suddenly stern, and rough around the edges. He’s clearly getting frustrated, irritated, with this conversation. With her. She flinches a little without meaning to. “I just want you to know that the fact that I fake-married _ you _ in particular has nothing to do with why I didn’t tell them. That’s all.”

Rey thinks she understands.

“My not telling them has nothing to do with you,” he says again.

“Okay,” she says. “I… I understand.” At least, she thinks she does.

His body relaxes a little against hers.

“Okay,” he repeats. Lets out a long slow breath. “Okay.” 

He doesn’t let her go, and he doesn’t move back to his side of the bed.

* * *

Rey wakes shortly before dawn feeling drowsy and warm.

She stirs a little as she blinks awake. As she comes to herself she realizes slowly—too slowly, with the mental sluggishness that always seems to come with early morning—that she’s pinned to the mattress beneath a very large arm. Ben’s solid, and warm—and _ half-naked— _body is curled tightly around hers, his arms crushing her to him like a child clutching protectively to a beloved teddy bear.

The events of last night come rushing back to her like a river in flood. She starts to panic a little as she tries, and fails, to remember how they ended up in position. But no matter how hard she tries, her memories stop abruptly right after Ben pulled her into his arms and told her his situation with his parents has nothing to do with her.

She must have fallen asleep like that—with her head on his chest and his arms wrapped comfortingly around her shoulders.

He must have fallen asleep like that, too. 

And then at some point in the night they somehow ended up like this, snuggled together like a pair of nesting spoons, hiding from his parents and from the world beneath the blankets.

Ben’s breathing is deep and even behind her, and it feels good, and _ right _, somehow, to wake up with him like this in his bed, even though she knows it’s completely insane to feel this way.

But… no. _ No. _This should not be happening. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep this way, and she’s certain he hadn’t either. All he’d been trying to do when he pulled her close and held her was reassure her after a very fraught couple of hours. Nothing more.

He has never once said that he’s wanted… _ this _… to be anything other than exactly what they agreed it would be at the beginning.

Rey shifts a little in the bed, trying to think through how to extricate herself from this situation without waking Ben up. No need for him to know this has happened if it can be avoided.

But it’s no use. They are lying _ so _ close together, his body curled around hers, his arms wrapped tight around her rib cage. If she so much as wriggles the wrong way he’ll wake up and it’ll all be over.

“Ben,” she murmurs quietly, half hoping he’ll hear her and wake up, half hoping he won’t. She moves around a little more—

And then, all at once, her ass brushes up against his rock hard and _ very _obvious erection. It’s confined within his boxer shorts, but the material of those damn boxers must be paper thin because she can still feel it’s heat against the rounded flesh of her ass through the layers of clothing separating them.

She freezes in place, and chokes on her breath.

He is… 

His cock is _ enormous. _

It probably shouldn’t come as a shock to her. Ben is larger than life everywhere—his deep, booming voice; his broad shoulders; his hands, the size of dinner plates—so it only makes sense that his… that his…

That Ben would be big, everywhere.

Rey closes her eyes and bites her lip. She knows it’s wrong to enjoy this, to _ want _ this. But she can’t help herself. She wants to revel in this feeling, she wants to memorize how this feels—his cock, so hot and heavy and urgent against her hip.

He might not realize what’s happening, or how close their bodies are pressed together. But his cock definitely notices. It twitches once, _ hard _, against her backside, as though seeking more friction of its own accord.

_ He can’t help it, _ she berates herself, even as the urge to grind her ass back against him starts to become nearly irresistible. _ It’s a natural, unconscious physical response. Nothing more _. It would be wrong for her to take advantage of the situation now, or to make a big thing about it when he wakes up.

Completely oblivious to Rey’s distress Ben makes a low, snuffling sound—and pulls her even closer against the front of his body. Rey closes her eyes and _ whimpers _ when he buries his face into the nape of her neck, his dick pressing into her backside, and his lips and his warm tickling breath against her skin, making her feel seconds away from bursting into flames.

He is everywhere. All around her. She needs to end this. Right now.

“Ben,” she says, on a loud whisper. He doesn’t want this; he _ has _ to wake up. “ _ Ben.” _

She can feel it the moment he blinks awake. His breathing, all at once, quiets and changes, and his body tenses around hers as his mind tries frantically to catch up with what’s going on.

“Rey?” He murmurs her name into the sensitive skin at the back of her neck, making her shiver. Ben’s voice is muzzy, and thick with sleep. “Why are you… wait.” Ben pauses but—to Rey’s surprise—doesn’t pull away. 

“Ben—”

He groans. “Oh, _ fuck _.”

Rey’s face is burning. “I’m sorry, it’s just—“

“_ You’re _sorry?” He groans again, and pulls his hips back so that his cock is no longer pressed, hard, into the flesh of her ass. It’s almost a sense of loss, really, the rush of cool air in the place his warmth had just been. “Rey.”

He sounds mortified. Which…

Which won’t do. Not at all. 

Rey starts to roll over so that she can tell him, face-to-face, that he has done nothing wrong and has nothing to worry about… at the exact same moment Ben raises his hands to… what? Rub her shoulders? Pat her on the head? It isn’t clear. 

All Rey knows is that at the precise moment she flips over onto her side, and is face-to-face with Ben, her breasts land perfectly, neatly, right in the palms of his hands. Her breasts are small, but never in her life has she been so grateful for small breasts. Just the sight of his giant hands _ enveloping _ them like this instantly turns her insides to jelly and makes her cunt clench so deliciously it takes all her restraint not to groan out loud.

And the way it _ feels _…

She tears her eyes away from where his hands are covering her and looks up at his face. His eyes are wide, _ terrified, _ and his hands tremble where they are touching her, unsure. But he doesn’t pull his hands back, and she knows—she doesn’t know how she knows, only that it’s true—that Ben can feel the way her nipples are already starting to pebble into hard little points beneath her t-shirt and against his palms. She realizes, suddenly, that she wants Ben to tease her, to shove her shirt up past her shoulders and rub her nipples roughly between his thumb and forefinger until she loses her _ mind _ with it. It doesn’t make any sense to want this, to want _ that _ —it will complicate everything, it’ll ruin _ everything _ —but his cock is still twitching, hard against her hip, and his hands are so big and so warm on her body and _ god _, in this moment, she isn’t certain she’s ever wanted anything more.

But Ben doesn’t do any of those things. His eyes are wide and unblinking as he stares resolutely at her face and not where he is touching her.

He swallows, and a nearly imperceptible whimper escapes his lips. 

What is happening between them right now? 

More importantly: what does Ben _ want _to happen?

“Ben,” she begins, her voice trembling. 

“Rey.” Her name is a guttural, pitiful sound, torn from his throat. It almost sounds like begging—though Rey doesn’t know what he’s begging _ for _ . It doesn’t matter; the effect it has on her, on her body, is electrifying and instantaneous. She can feel her bones liquifying, her senses heightening, growing more attuned to how close their bodies are and how his hands are starting to gently, _ gently _, massage her tits. Her underwear is already damp, just from this; if he keeps his hands on her body like this it won’t be much longer before she’s absolutely drenched.

His hands start to move more firmly, more confidently, his large fingers tentatively tweaking her nipples as he checks her face for her reaction. He must be satisfied with whatever he sees there, because he groans, and bites his lip, and his cock twitches so hard against Rey’s thigh it takes all her restraint not to reach down right now and set it free of the confines of those damn boxer shorts.

“Ben,” she rasps out, her eyes slipping closed as she lets the sensations from his moving hands wash over her.

“_ Ben _.”

At the sound of Leia Organa’s loud, unmistakable voice coming from the other side of Ben’s closed bedroom door, Rey’s eyes fly open reflexively and Ben’s hands abruptly stop moving.

And then a fist—Leia Organa’s probably; though maybe it’s Han’s—starts banging, hard, on Ben’s closed bedroom door. They jump apart from one another like two teenagers caught making out in the parking lot after prom. 

“Go away!” Ben yells. “It’s—” he pauses, and glances at his phone on his nightstand—”it’s not even six in the morning.”

“We gotta leave now, kid,” Han calls out. “Our ride’s here. And your mother wants to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” Ben mutters, loudly enough for them to hear through the door.

“The _ right _ way, Benjamin,” his mother says. “God only knows when we’re going to hear from you again.”

Ben closes his eyes and lets out a long, quiet groan.

“Fine,” he mutters. He sits up beside Rey and flips on the bedside lamp. Rey squints against the light as he rummages through his dresser for jeans and a shirt to throw on. Either his parents’ interruption was just _ that _ jarring for him or his jeans perform camouflaging miracles—because from where she’s lying in bed she can hardly even see that he has an erection anymore.

He bends over and puts a warm, gentle hand on Rey’s shoulder.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he promises.

* * *

He isn’t back in a few minutes.

Rey doesn’t mean to eavesdrop on the conversation Ben has with his parents. She really doesn’t. But Ben’s voice is _ really _ loud, even under normal circumstances. When he’s upset—like he is now, apparently—it’s next to impossible to tune out.

Especially when it’s immediately clear that she is the subject of conversation.

“Ben,” Leia says. Rey can hear Ben’s mother as clearly as if she were standing right on the other side of the bedroom door, though she knows, based on how loudly they all just walked down the hallway, that they’re in the living room. “We know what you’re doing.”

“Oh? Then tell me—what am I doing?” Ben’s voice is all grit and sharp edges. If Rey had to guess, she’d say he was leaning up against the entryway to the kitchen, arms folded across his chest in feigned boredom. The way he does when he’s irritated but trying not to show it. But his tone gives him away, every time.

“Cut the crap, kid.” Han’s voice comes from further away. Maybe he’s closer to the front door than Ben and his mother. “It took me a little longer to catch on, but your mother figured out what was going on here after five minutes.”

“Figured _ what _ out, exactly?” Ben’s voice has gone up a half-octave in pitch, sharp and even more aggressive.

_ Oh no _ , Rey thinks, frantically, her heart hammering away in her chest. _ Oh no, oh no _.

“Ben.” Rey can hear his mother’s footsteps on the hardwood floor as she crosses the room. “We figured out what’s going on with you and Rey.”

He scoffs. “You figured out we got married? You’re quick.”

“No, Ben,” Leia says. “We’ve figured out what’s _ really _ going on with you and Rey. All of it.”

“It was... pretty obvious,” Han adds.

“You seem terrified of her, for one thing,” Leia says. “Also, come on, Ben. Ackbar’s outfit would never have the kind of resources you need to sponsor a Visa.”

All at once, it feels like Rey’s been dropped into a tub of ice cold water. She gasps, loudly enough that if the Solo-Organa family weren’t fully engaged in an argument in another room they’d certainly be able to hear it. 

_ Oh, no. _

His parents _ have _ to believe that this is real. They simply _ have _ to.

If they don’t, what chance do they have of making this work? 

“Why can’t you both just... stay out of it?” Ben shouts, loud enough that even the neighbors across the hall likely heard him. He isn’t even denying that this is a rouse, then. Rey’s stomach gives an odd lurch, and she winces against the pain in her chest.

“Ben—”

“_ I _ know why you can’t stay out of it,” Ben continues, cutting off his mother. “Because you can’t stay out of _ anything _ . It’s like you’ve decided that your _ mission _ in life to stick your nose in my life and fuck everything up!”

“Actually, my dear, I’d argue that right now, I’m trying to help you _ un _fuck up your life,” she says. Leia’s voice is as calm and collected as Ben’s is agitated. “Do you even know this girl at all?”

And then… silence, that seems to stretch on forever.

“I know her,” Ben eventually says, in a much more subdued voice. All the fight has gone out of him. Rey doesn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. “Her name is Rey Niima, she’s an alum of my law school, and—”

“Ben,” Leia interrupts. “Rey seems lovely. Hell, anyone who goes into legal aid right after law school gets an A in my book.” 

“Then what the _ fuck _ is your problem?”

“Well, for starters—what if you find someone you _ actually _want to marry someday? What if this whole process takes longer than you think it will, and—”

“That won’t be an issue, Mom.” 

“You don’t _ know _ that.”

“I do.” Rey hears Ben pick something up, and then his heavy footfalls as he starts moving further away from the bedroom. “Can I help you with your suitcases, since you’re both _ leaving _ now?” His tone is cold as ice. 

“Ben,” Leia says, sounding exasperated. “Please, for once in your life. _ Listen _ to us.”

And then, a lot of time passes in which Rey can’t quite hear what Ben or his parents are saying. Maybe they’ve moved into the dining room, which is separated from Ben’s bedroom by more space and thicker walls. Every now and then Rey will catch a word or a snippet of conversation—a “Rey,” or a “you don’t understand, I—” or “okay, Ben, but—”. But the words are separated by long stretches of cryptic mumbling, and Rey cannot make out any context.

After what feels like another hour Han says: “We won’t make this hard for you.” His voice is clear and his words are discernible again. They must have moved back into the main room of the apartment. “Will we, Leia?”

“No,” Leia says. “If you’re determined to go through with this—“

“I am,” Ben says. But his voice has lost all the resoluteness it possessed at the beginning of the argument. He sounds… nervous. Unsure.

“Okay,” Leia says. “I love you, Ben. You know that, I hope?”

A long pause.

“Have a safe flight home,” Ben eventually mutters. Rey hears the front door swing open. “Goodbye.”

* * *

After Han and Leia leave, Rey hears Ben’s heavy footfalls as he makes his way down the hallway towards his bedroom. Her heart is still racing after the conversation she just heard. As his footsteps get closer Rey closes her eyes tight and burrows under the covers until only the top of her head is sticking out. 

When he opens the door and pokes his head inside she lies perfectly still beneath the blankets, feigning sleep.

She _ can’t _ drag him down deeper into this lie, she decides, right then, as she hears his heavy sigh, his footsteps as he moves around the bed towards the side where he’d slept last night.

His parents are right. What if he _ does _ meet someone else? Someone he actually cares for? This whole process could take years—and it’s not fair to him to seduce him into something he might not actually want, in the long run.

Ben pulls down the covers on his side of the bed and slides beneath them, moving closer to her. But he makes no move to touch her. His parents’ words must have hit home, then.

“Rey,” he says, very quietly.

She doesn’t reply. 

This will be easier—everything will be easier—if she pretends to be asleep right now, and doesn’t let anything get in the way of their arrangement being what it was from the beginning.

Specifically: a transaction between acquaintances, and nothing more.

After a few more moments pass, Ben sighs again. He rolls over onto his other side so his back is to her. 

Neither one of them is able to sleep any more after that. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Rey knows how incredible it feels to have Ben’s hands on her body, it’s been hard to think of much else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the delay between updates, everyone! When I last updated this--a month ago, eek--I figured I’d need a short hiatus for TRoS. And then TRoS actually happened, and… yeah. Yeah. The movie kind of knocked the stuffing out of me (just as it did everyone else).
> 
> But now I’m back. The next few weeks I'll be focusing on this fic and a fic and a fic I’m writing for the [Reylo Charity Anthology](https://twitter.com/reylocharity%22) (a collection of stories and art people are creating to raise money for [four different worthy charities](https://reylocharityanthology.tumblr.com/%22)). So the updates to this fic will be happening more often than once per month going forward, I promise. <3 Thank you for your patience!

Rey opens the refrigerator and starts rummaging around inside it with shaking hands.

“Chardonnay… chardonnay… come on, where are you,” she mutters under her breath. She bought another bottle of wine at the grocery store the other day. Which, as it turns out, was a good decision.

There’s been an email from the City of Chicago burning a hole in her inbox for four hours now but she waited to get home before opening it. She’s certain it’s in response to the resume and cover letter she sent them two weeks ago because why else would they be contacting her? 

And if the news isn’t good, she didn’t want to risk having a breakdown in front of Finn at the office. She wanted to have it here, in the comfort of her own quasi-home, with a glass of wine in her hands. 

The City has a reputation for mostly hiring laterals, since hiring experienced attorneys costs less taxpayer money than hiring a baby lawyer who needs to be trained from scratch. But they  _ must _ hire new graduates like her once in a while, right? It’s what she’s been banking on, anyway.

But now that their response to her application is right here, she’s doubting herself all over again.

Rey pours herself a glass of wine and takes a big swallow. Then, she makes her way into the living room, and takes a seat on the floor in front coffee table—a place that has, over the past few weeks, become her usual place to read in the evenings. She takes a deep breath, tucks her legs underneath her, and pulls up the email on her phone. 

* * *

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_ From: Mon K. Mothma [mmothma@cityofchicago.gov] _

_ To: Rey J. Solo [ _ [ _ rey.niima@google.com _ ](mailto:rey.niima@google.com) _ ]  _

_ re: Staff Attorney position _

_ —————————————— _

_ Dear Ms. Solo, _

_ Thank you for your interest in the Staff Attorney position currently available with the City of Chicago.  _

_ Attorney positions with the City of Chicago are incredibly competitive, and we saw an unprecedented volume of applications for this particular job opening. Unfortunately, we are not in a position to invite you into our office for an interview at this time. Should that situation change in the future we will be in touch. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Mon K. Mothma, Director _

_ City of Chicago _

_ Legal Department _

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

* * *

Rey reads the email a second time before setting her phone back down on the coffee table and sighing.

“Great,” she mutters.

She knows—on some level, anyway—that this was always going to be a long shot and that this rejection isn’t personal. Mothma probably took one look at her resume, saw when she graduated from law school, and didn’t even bother to read the rest of her materials before pasting what’s probably a standard rejection letter into the email Rey just received.

Somehow, though, it  _ feels _ personal. She knows she isn’t being rational—but today was a very long day, and she isn’t in the mood to be rational. Right now, all she wants to do is feel sorry for herself for a little while. 

Rey takes another sip of wine before picking up her phone again and pulling up Finn’s number.

_ I just heard from the city _ , she texts him.

_ I didn’t get the job _

She puts her phone down again without waiting for a reply. She told Finn she’d tell him as soon as she heard anything from the City, but right now she doesn’t think she can handle the sympathetic, encouraging response he’ll probably send her when he gets her message.

Things with Ben have been so...  _ tense _ since his parents’ visit. Applying for this job might have been a long shot—but it’s becoming clearer every day that marrying him was a huge mistake. She needs an out from this situation as soon as possible for both of their sakes.

As Rey mulls over whether to get herself a second class of wine the front door to the apartment opens quietly behind her.

“Hey.”

Rey looks up, surprised at the sound of Ben’s voice. He doesn’t usually get home from work until eight in the evening. In the weeks since his parents’ visit it’s often been even later. 

Right now, though, it’s only six. He hasn’t come home at six even once in the three weeks they’ve been married. 

Something’s wrong.

“You’re home early,” she says, trying to keep the concern from her voice.

“Yeah.” Ben drops his leather briefcase, letting it hit the floor with a dull  _ thud,  _ before walking into the living room without taking off his shoes.

Rey’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Ben  _ never _ walks into the apartment without taking his shoes off and lining them up neatly in front of the coat closet. 

Something is  _ definitely _ wrong.

“What’s going on?” 

“I’m pretty sure I’ve got the flu,” he mutters with no inflection in his voice. 

Rey winces. “Oh, no.”

“I feel like death.” He moves like a sleepwalker, like he’s drugged, shuffling past her and heading straight for his bedroom. She can hear the bounce and creak of the bed springs as he collapses on top of his bed without even bothering to change out of his suit or close his bedroom door. 

Rey bites her lip, hesitating.

She has steered completely clear of Ben’s bedroom ever since his parents were here and she had had no choice but to sleep in his room. Partly because she has no reason to go in there, but also because she’s been desperate for  _ anything _ that might her stop reliving the events of that morning. 

Unfortunately, staying away from his room hasn’t helped much. Now that Rey knows how  _ incredible _ it feels to have Ben’s hands on her body, it’s been hard to think of much else. And not just when she’s in the apartment—but when she’s out of it, too. Finn has caught her daydreaming in her cubicle, reliving those few precious moments they had together before his parents interrupted them, more times in the past two weeks than she can count. 

Fortunately, her friend hasn’t seemed to figure out yet what’s causing her to be so distracted. If he ever does…

Well. She isn’t looking forward to  _ that _ conversation.

Part of her wonders if Ben keeps thinking about that morning, too. If he does, he’s shown no sign of it. He certainly hasn’t brought it up in conversation. But then again, over the past two weeks they’ve hardly seen each other at all. She isn’t sure if it’s intentional, the way Ben now stays later at the office then he did before, or if she’s just imagining the way Ben keeps finding convenient excuses to leave the room every time she enters it on the rare occasions they both happen to be at home. 

Either way—it  _ feels _ like he’s intentionally avoiding her. And that hurts more than she wants to admit to herself. 

She hears a pitiful groan from his bedroom. The sound reminds her, briefly, of the groans she’d accidentally overheard the night she’d walked by his room as he was jerking off. But then he groans again, even more pitifully, a moment before he succumbs to a horrible coughing fit. It snaps her back to the present and the issue at hand.

Which is that Ben is really, really sick.

God, she is a  _ terrible _ person.

She bites her lip, trying to decide if she should just set the awkwardness between them aside for a moment and check on him. That’s what roommates do when the other one has the flu, right? Check in on each other?

It’s what she and Finn would do, anyway.

More coughing comes from Ben’s room, and then another groan, and she makes up her mind. Rey stands up and makes her way to Ben’s bedroom with the kind of bravery most people usually reserve for standardized tests or open combat. 

When she gets there his door is still open. She knocks on it and pokes her head inside.

“Go away,” Ben mutters from beneath a heap of blankets.

She ignores him and steps inside the room. 

“Go away,” he says again. His voice might be muffled but the warning in his tone is impossible to miss. “Don’t come any closer.”

Rey folds her arms defiantly in front of her chest. “Why not?”

“You don’t want to catch this.” As if to emphasize his point Ben devolves into another coughing fit, this one so loud and so dramatic it shakes his bed. 

A wave of sympathy washes over her.

“Can I at least go get you something at the store to make you feel better?”

The blanket mound shifts a little as Ben shakes his head. “That won’t be necessary.”

“I could get you some medicine, or some chicken soup, or—”

“Just… leave me alone, all right?”

At that, Rey rolls her eyes. “No. I won’t just leave you alone.” She approaches him, being careful not to trip over the overcoat and shoes he must have kicked off before collapsing into bed. “You’re sick.”

She gently pulls back the covers, ignoring Ben’s mumbled protests. She takes in his closed eyes, matted hair, and riotously flushed cheeks, and places the back of her hand on his forehead to gauge his temperature.

She gasps, and pulls her hand back.

He is  _ broiling _ hot. 

“You’re burning up, Ben,” she says. She doesn’t know much about the flu, or fevers, but she  _ does _ know it can be dangerous if a fever gets too high. “You need something to bring that fever down.” 

“Rey—”

“Tylenol helps with fevers,” she continues, as though he hadn’t interrupted her. “My foster parents used to give me that sometimes when I got sick. What kind of soup do you like?”

“I don’t like soup.”

“Chicken soup is good for illness,” she muses. “I’ll go to the place down the street. Their chicken soup is delicious.” She runs through a mental checklist of everything Finn did for her that one time she came down with the flu their 1L year. Ben will need a thermometer; she hasn’t been through his medicine cabinet but she can’t imagine he owns one of those. She’ll get him some cough drops for that awful cough of his, some Nyquil…

And then, she remembers the most important thing.

“Rom coms!” she exclaims. 

When she had the flu in law school she laid on their couch with her head in Finn’s lap for what felt like days, just watching silly movie after silly movie. Rom coms were an old Smith family remedy for the flu, Finn told her, very seriously. She’s pretty sure he made that up—but either way, watching movies on the couch with him  _ had _ made her feel better. 

“Rom coms?” Ben asks, weakly. “Are you kidding me?” He lifts his head off the pillow a little and opens his eyes. They’re bloodshot, and glassy with fever. 

_ The poor dear _ , Rey thinks suddenly, heart twisting in her chest, before she can stop herself. 

She shakes her head in an attempt to shake it off.

_ Focus, Rey _ , she chides herself.

“No. I’m not kidding,” she says. She thinks for a minute before adding, “ _ When Harry Met Sally _ is always great when I’m feeling poorly.”

Ben’s head flops back down on the bed and he lets out a quiet moan.

“Do I have to watch that?”

“Yes.” 

“But...  _ why _ ?”

“It’ll make you feel better,” she says. Ben pulls his blankets back over his head and mutters something Rey can’t quite make out, though she does hear a  _ fuck _ and a couple of  _ no _ ’s. “I’ll go get your medicine and your soup. Then we’ll watch it together.”

Rey steps out of his room, her mind on her mission.

She will  _ not _ think about how much her heart is racing right now at the thought of spending an entire evening with Ben.

* * *

He’s still in bed when Rey gets back an hour later. But he’s sitting up now, leaning back against the headboard with his laptop open on his lap. 

Beside him sits a stack of documents about six inches thick.

Rey glares at him. “What are you doing?”

He doesn’t look up from his computer. “Work,” he says. 

“But you’re sick.”

“I am aware.”

Rey walks over to his bed and puts her hand on his computer.

He looks up and scowls at her. “What are you doing?”

She closes the laptop and gently sets it down on his nightstand. Fortunately, he doesn’t fight her. “You are  _ sick _ ,” she says again. “You’re taking tonight off.”

Ben closes his eyes and lets out a long, forlorn sigh. “I really can’t.”

“Oh, but you  _ can _ .” She touches the back of her hand to Ben’s forehead again. He’s still burning up. “You’re sick as a dog. Whatever soulless corporate client is waiting for your brilliant work can wait one more day for it.”

Ben looks up at her for a long moment, and opens his mouth to say something else—but then he’s overtaken by another coughing fit, and that’s the end of that.

When his coughing finally subsides Ben’s body sags back against the headboard. 

“I got you soup,” Rey says, sympathetically, holding up one of the bags in her hands. “And some meds.”

“Do you know what your problem is?” he asks her. The words are accusatory but his tone is not. His voice is quiet, too thin and reedy from coughing. 

Rey stares at him, confused. “My problem?”

“You care too much.” Ben pushes his blankets down his legs and gingerly steps out of the bed. He’s wearing the baggy sweatpants he sometimes wears around the house in the mornings before he goes for his run along with a tight-fitting white t-shirt. He must have changed out of his suit at some point while she was out. His sweatpants sit distractingly low on his hips, just like they always do —but Rey refuses to be distracted.

“I’m sorry but… what are you  _ talking _ about?” she asks.

“Your big heart limited your options in law school,” he says by way of clarification. Though he still isn’t making any sense. “And it’s making things harder for you than is strictly necessary right now.”

He reaches out to take the bags Rey’s holding. Rey, stunned beyond words, silently gives them to him.

“If you just had fewer scruples, you’d—” Ben cuts himself off abruptly, the right side of his mouth quirking up into a wry smile. He shakes his head.

It takes a moment for Rey’s mouth to catch up to her racing brain. “ _ What _ would I do if I had fewer scruples?”

Ben sighs. “You’d be a lot less apt to catch the flu from your husband.”

He pushes past her without another word, and shuffles down the hallway towards the living room.

* * *

Ben’s living room furniture might have cost a lot more than the cheap IKEA stuff she shared with Finn—but it’s  _ way _ less comfortable.

“Are you all right?” Rey asks as Ben attempts to sprawl out on the leather sofa that is definitely too small for this purpose. It’s  _ much _ smaller than the couch she shared with Finn and was clearly designed for two regular-sized people sitting up. Not one massive person, lying down. 

But Ben’s gamely making the best of the situation all the same.

“Yeah,” he mutters, shifting his massive form awkwardly. His lower legs dangle off the armrest, and maybe this whole idea of hers was ridiculous and she should just let him go back to bed. Although now that he’s out of bed he actually seems a lot more up for watching a movie than he’d been earlier. 

Or at least, he isn’t complaining anymore.

As she watches Ben settle himself, she thinks back to how, when she watched movies with Finn back in law school, she would lie on the couch with her head in his lap. But that’s clearly not happening tonight. Even if things  _ weren’t _ as awkward as they currently are between them there’s no way they’re both going to fit on that thing. 

Instead, once Ben is more or less comfortable, Rey pulls up a straight-backed wooden chair from the dining room table and places it beside his head. She frowns, and fidgets a little in her chair as she tries to tamp down her irrational disappointment over not having an excuse to touch him. 

And then, a long silence settles between them.

“Do you… um.” She trails off, casting around for something, anything, to say. “Do you need more lozenges?” 

“No,” he says. “What I  _ need  _ is to not be watching a Meg Ryan movie.”

“ _ When Harry Met Sally _ has medicinal value.” 

“That is  _ not _ true.” 

Rey frowns at him. “Is there something else you’d rather watch instead?” His eyes slip closed. He looks pained. “Or would you rather go back to bed?”

He sighs.

“No. It’s… it’s fine. It’s just that I... don’t usually watch movies.” He shrugs again, and glances at her. “But when I do, I don’t watch rom coms. I usually go for movies with aliens. Or... explosions.” He pauses. “Or both, if I can manage it.”

She blinks at him, surprised. He’s so pompous, most of the time. She would not have guessed that movies featuring aliens—with or without explosions—would have been his cup of tea.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Well.. okay, then. Can you give me some examples of movies you like?” She grabs her phone, trying to think of alternate options.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Ben mutters. “I like the  _ Aliens _ , movies I guess. The first few of them anyway. And  _ Star Trek _ .”

“Would you rather watch  _ Star Trek _ ?” Just because she and Finn watched rom coms doesn’t mean she and Ben have to watch rom coms.

He nods. “I’d always rather watch  _ Star Trek _ .”

“Fine.” She scrolls through her phone. “Just give me a minute so I can find it on Amazon.”

“I… actually own it.” A pause. “I own all of them.”

She looks at him. “All of them?” 

He nods. 

“How many are there?”

“Kind of a lot.” He fidgets a little, and then says, a little sheepishly, “That’s probably pretty nerdy, isn’t it?”

Rey shrugs, unable to keep a smile from spreading across her face. “Just another piece to the puzzle, Ben.”

He laughs a little at that, and then he starts to cough again.

When he’s finished, he says, “Can I pick the one we watch?” For the first time all night the look on his face is eager and hopeful. 

Her smile grows. Because he is… he is absolutely  _ adorable _ . 

In that moment, Rey realizes, with a fluttering feeling in the pit of her stomach—and beyond a shadow of a doubt—that she is  _ done for _ with regards to Ben Solo.

“Of course,” she says quietly, unable to meet his eyes. She feels her face getting hot for reasons having nothing to do with fever. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

* * *

About thirty minutes into the movie—shortly after a young Patrick Stewart meets up with a woman who calls herself a  _ borg _ , or something—Rey chances a glance at Ben.

Her heart stutters a little in her chest when she sees him there, scrunched up into an awkward position on his too-small couch. He’s already fast asleep, using his hands as a makeshift pillow beneath his head.

His face is red and flushed, and his mouth hangs half-open as he sleeps, and... Rey just sits there, watching him, for longer than she really should. He looks so young, so vulnerable, right now. 

She is nearly overcome with the urge to touch him while he sleeps. So she leans over the part of the sofa that separates them and puts her hand on his forehead again. He’s a bit cooler now than he was before. His forehead, his hair, are both damp with sweat. A clear sign that his fever is breaking a little. Relief floods her. 

She wants to keep touching him like this, but she knows she shouldn’t. She also wants to keep doting on him, which she figures is probably less inappropriate. 

She decides to get him a blanket and cover him up so that when he wakes up in twenty minutes, or in an hour, he won’t start shivering.

As she drapes the blanket from the linen closet over his sleeping form, and tucks it in around him, she thinks back to the weird thing he said to her earlier. He’d said that her heart was too big. That she cares too much. 

Was he trying to say she needs to think about selling out, professionally, if she wants a job that will sponsor a work Visa? Does he think she’s being foolish, holding out for another legal aid or government position?

Or… was he trying to tell her she needs to stop caring so much about  _ him _ ? 

Rey readjusts Ben’s blanket and sits back in her chair, her heart thudding so hard inside her ribcage it feels like it’s going to burst through her chest.

Because if he was trying to warn her against caring too much about him… that advice has come far too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The slow burn will start getting a lot hotter very, very soon. I promise. :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the lovely comments you’re leaving on this fic! I’ve fallen behind in replying but please know I read and cherish every one. ❤️
> 
> I'm hoping to soon be back to weekly updates, once a few life things settle down. Thank you for your patience with me!

Ben looks up from his laptop when Rey walks into the living room wearing the black sheath dress Rose lent her for tonight. She still needs to find her heels and she isn’t sure where they are, but when she glances towards the dining room table and sees the heated look Ben is giving her she forgets all about them.

He’s still sitting in the chair he’s been in all afternoon, but whatever he’d been focusing on before she walked in isn’t holding his attention right now. He’s staring at  _ her _ now, his eyes practically drinking her in as they trail down her body before working their way back up again.

Ben has been completely over his fever and the flu for several days now. But his face is as red and flushed right now as it was at the height of his illness.

Rey doesn’t have a mirror handy but she’s pretty sure she’s blushing, too. She bends a little at the waist and starts fidgeting with the hem of her dress just for an excuse not to look at him.

She can still  _ feel  _ him staring at her, just as easily as if he were actually touching her—but this way, at least she can pretend she doesn’t know he’s doing it.

“How do I look?” she asks—unnecessarily, probably. She knows she cleans up well enough when she has to. It’s just been so long since she wore anything out in public that wasn’t either a suit, or jeans and a t-shirt, that her confidence in this department is somewhat rattled.

Ben’s reaction suggests he thinks she looks good—but if he’s actually only staring at her because she looks ridiculous, it’s better to find that out now than at the event. 

Ben doesn’t answer her question. Instead, he gets up from the dining room table for the first time all day and walks over to the coat closet by the front door. He opens it, and pulls out the heels Rey’s been looking everywhere for.

“Here,” he says, handing them to her. 

“Oh,” Rey says, surprised. She slides them onto her feet one at a time. They’re sizable heels and add several inches to her height. She turns to face him again and…

It’s… kind of strange, having the top of her head reach Ben’s chin. Normally her head only comes up to his shoulders. 

He seems to notice the difference too. He looks away as his blush deepens. 

Rey clears her throat, a little awkwardly. “Why were my shoes in the closet? I know I didn’t put them there.”

Ben snorts. “I know. You leave them all over the apartment. I thought it would be easier to keep them in here so you’ll always remember where they are.”

She can’t help but smile at that. “And so they aren’t cluttering up your otherwise neat, orderly home anymore.”

“That too,” he admits. But he’s smiling now, too. His eyes go soft when he says, “You look great tonight.”

His voice is so warm. Rey’s heartbeat picks up speed at the compliment, and she digs her fingernails into her palms to keep from freaking out. “Do I?”

He nods, his jaw working. “Yeah.”

Rey swallows, unsure whether or not to push it. To ask him if this means he doesn’t want to bolt from the room anymore every time she enters it. 

In the end, all she says is, “Thank you, Ben.”

Ben shrugs, and looks away again, saying nothing.

_ Right _ , Rey thinks.  _ Time to change the subject then _ . She starts looking around for purse, which she knows is around here somewhere. 

“Will I fit in with the people at your firm?” she asks him.

“Oh.” Ben looks surprised by the question. “No.” 

“No?” Rey blinks at him, then looks down at her dress, frowning. “Should I wear something else?”

“Absolutely not,” he says emphatically. Ben takes a step back and gives her another appraising look—this one with unmistakable heat in it. “Wear what you’re wearing.”

“But if you don’t think I’ll fit in tonight—”

“Rey.” He moves towards her and, tentatively, hesitantly, puts his hands on her shoulders. They are steady, and so warm she can feel their heat through the thin fabric of her dress and all the way down to her skin. “I don’t want you to be anyone other than exactly who you are. Tonight, or any other night.” 

He says the words with so much heated intensity Rey  _ knows _ she’s blushing now. 

“Okay,” she says, in a small voice. “I’ll… I’ll wear this.”

He leaves his hands on her shoulders for another long moment before dropping them—almost reluctantly, it seems—to his sides. 

She eyes him, and—a bit rattled from his actions and his tone—says the first thing that pops into her head.

“You look pretty terrific yourself, Ben.” 

Ben frowns at her skeptically. “I’m just wearing a suit.”

“I know.”

“I wear a suit every day.”

She gives him a small, bashful smile, and then looks away. She’s pushing things right now, she knows she is, but…

But, lately—ever since she forced him to watch movies with her during his illness—it feels like things between them are starting to thaw. They’re not back to where they were the morning they woke up in each others’ arms, and perhaps they never will be. But the looks he’s giving her, the things he’s saying...

She gathers her courage. “I know you wear a suit every day. Doesn’t mean you don’t look great tonight.” 

Maybe she’s just imagining things, but it seems like Ben has an extra spring in his step as they make their way down the stairs.

* * *

Just as they’re about to enter the hotel where the law firm party is being held, Rey finally remembers the pictures she’d wanted to take tonight. 

“Wait, Ben.” She pulls her phone from her purse. “We should take some selfies before we go in.”

Ben squints at her. “Selfies?”

“Yeah,” Rey says. “For USCIS. I have that appointment for fingerprints next week. And then the week after that’s my doctor’s appointment. Remember?” The fact that she has to submit to a doctor’s appointment to get a green card (for what? so they can make certain she’s actually female? so they can confirm she doesn’t have any health conditions that would make her an undesirable American citizen?) is an indignity Rey still can’t quite wrap her brain around. But it is what it is. 

Though, in truth, given the levels of dishonesty they’re engaging in right now she figures she has no right to complain.

“Yes,” Ben eventually says, a little too quietly. “I remember.”

“Right,” Rey says. “And then after  _ that  _ we have the interview with USCIS and I figured… I figured we could…” 

She trails off, because he’s just  _ looking _ at her again, the way he did back in the apartment when she came into the living room. What is she supposed to do—what is she supposed to  _ say? _ —when he looks at her like that, after spending several weeks avoiding her and pretending he didn’t notice her living with him at all?

“We could... show them a lot of pictures,” she finishes, lamely, her cheeks growing warm. “I mean we’ve taken a lot already— pictures from our wedding, the ones Finn took, but...” She pauses, then shrugs. “We’re all dressed up right now, and I thought it would be nice to show some from this evening.”

If Ben notices how flustered Rey is right now he shows no sign of it. “Sure,” he says easily. He adjusts his tie and quickly runs a hand through his hair. It’s getting a little long, Rey notices. She wonders how often he gets it cut. She used to cut hair back in college to make extra money. Would he let her cut his hair, if she asked? 

“Do I look presentable?” he asks her, when he’s finished. He’s joking, of course. He must know he looks fantastic. That he  _ always _ looks fantastic. But he seemed to like it when she complimented him earlier, so...

“You look good,” Rey assures him.  _ So incredibly good _ , she thinks, but doesn’t say. She motions for him to join her in front of the hotel entryway. “Get over here. And… actually, maybe you should take the picture. Your arms are freakishly long.”

He scowls at her. “Just because my arms aren’t ridiculously short like yours are doesn’t mean they’re freakishly long.”

“My arms are  _ not  _ ridiculously short.” 

“They are.”

“They are  _ not _ .”

“Fine, fine,” he says, sounding a little resigned. But he can’t quite hide the smile that’s playing at the corners of his lips. “Your arms are of a perfectly normal length. Look—let’s just take the picture, okay? I don’t want to get to this thing late.”

She peers up at him. “I thought you didn’t want to go to this party at all.”

“I don’t,” he says. “But I have to. And since I  _ have _ to, I’d rather get there early and leave early than show up late and get stuck there for god knows how long. So—let’s get to it, shall we?”

Without another word he unceremoniously puts his hands on either side of her waist and spins her so that her back is pressed up against the front of his body. 

“Give me your phone,” he says against the top of her head. One of his hands is still at her waist, warm and steady. The other hand reaches forward, his long arm stretching past her. “Please.”

Rey swallows, and tries to ignore how rapidly her heart is beating just from standing this close to him. It makes no sense at all for her body to  _ react _ like this, just because he’s standing so close.

She clears her throat. 

“Sure,” she says. She fishes around in her purse for a minute until she finds her phone. 

Their hands touch when he takes the phone from her. It only lasts for an instant, but it’s long enough to make her entire arm to erupt into gooseflesh.

And then, he wraps his free arm snugly around her midsection, pulling her even closer. Her breath catches and her heart speeds up even more, and she chastises herself for being an  _ idiot _ because the only thing he’s doing right now is exactly what she just asked him to do, and nothing more.

“Ready?” His breath is hot, his lips right by her ear. It would take nothing more than a slight tilt of her head, and...

But she does not tilt her head. And neither does he.

She nods to let her know she’s ready, not trusting her voice right now.

He holds the camera at that weird angle necessary for selfies. “Everybody smile.”

She does. Or, at least, she tries.

“I’m going to take a few of these, just to make sure at least one of them turns out, okay?”

He pulls her even closer as he snaps a few more pictures, and it feels like she can’t breathe.

* * *

The hotel ballroom Ben’s firm reserved for tonight’s party is just as ornately decorated and ostentatious as Rey expected it would be. 

She’s never worked for a big law firm herself, but she did the interview circuit just like everyone else during the fall of her second year of law school. Over the course of that semester she saw enough fancy lunches and cocktail parties to give her a rough idea of what she’d be seeing tonight.

“Which of these people do you need to impress?” Rey asks in a conspiratorial whisper once they’ve checked their coats and gotten their first glasses of wine. She is scouting out the room for either friendly faces, or for the servers carrying around trays of fancy appetizers that always seem to be fixtures of parties like these in the movies. 

So far she’s had no luck finding either. 

Ben peers at her. “Why do you think I need to impress anyone?”

“I mean… it’s obvious, isn’t it?” Ben has told her almost nothing about the people he works with, and even less about what he actually does for them. But it’s abundantly clear that he feels he has to impress them, and constantly. Why else would he work as relentlessly hard as he does?

Ben sighs. “I… suppose it is obvious, yes.”

“Very obvious. So—who should I be sure to be on my extra best behavior for?”

“No one,” he says flatly. “You don’t have to do anything at all.”

“But I want to help you,” she says. “I’m here as your wife, aren’t I? Shouldn’t I play the part? Help you suck up to the muckety-mucks?”

“ _ No _ .” He says, emphatically. “You just… you just be yourself.” He puts his hands on either side of her waist and turns her so that she has to look at him. His eyes are piercing, and his fingers are digging hard into her sides—nearly to the point of pain. “Okay?”

Rey’s eyes go wide with surprise. What is  _ this _ about? “Okay,” she says, bewildered by his sudden fervor. “You can let go of me now, alright?”

At that, Ben seems to realize, for the first time, that he’s gripping her too hard. His hands quickly drop to his sides and a flush begins creeping up his neck. 

Rey looks away from him, trying to distract herself from the odd moment they just shared by watching everyone else in the room. 

“If I don’t need to help you impress anyone can you at least tell me who some of these people are?” Rey shakes her head. “I don’t know anyone. It’ll make the night go by faster if I can at least put names to faces.”

Ben regards her for a long moment, considering. 

“Sure,” he says, shrugging. “I can do that. Who do you want to know about?”

Rey scans the room, trying to find someone who stands out among all these people who are—for all the money Rey knows they must have spent on their clothes tonight—more or less dressed exactly the same.

“How about them,” she says, pointing in the direction of a statuesque blonde who’s at least as tall as Ben. She’s talking with a much shorter, red-haired man, who looks absolutely terrified.

Ben scowls. “Don’t go anywhere near them.”

“Fine, I won’t,” Rey says. “But can you tell me about them at least? She looks fascinating. What are their names?”

“That’s Phasma,” he mutters, pointing at the blonde woman. “The red-headed guy is Armitage Hux. They’re both junior associates here, like me.” He pauses. “They’re total assholes.”

Rey holds her hand up to her mouth to stifle a giggle. “Yeah?”

Ben nods. “Definitely.”

“And what about him?” Rey points in the direction of young man who looks about twenty years old. “Is he an asshole too?”

Ben snorts. “That’s Mitaka. And no, he’s not an asshole. He’s...” Ben trails off, not finishing his thought.

“If he’s not an asshole can we go over and talk to him, then?”

He makes the kind of face you might expect someone to make after they’ve just tasted something rancid. 

“Mitaka?” Ben sounds horrified. “Why would you want to talk to Mitaka?”

Rey lets out a frustrated sigh. “So what exactly are we supposed to  _ do  _ at this party if we aren’t going to talk to anyone?”

Ben looks just about to answer that question when someone suddenly materializes at Ben’s side.

“Mr. Solo.”

Rey looks up to see a bald man with extensive facial scarring standing right beside Ben. Under normal circumstances Rey knows better than to gape at strangers—but this man is a lot to look at and she finds she can’t help herself. It’s difficult to say how old he is exactly—he could be forty-five; he could be seventy—but he carries himself with such self-possession it’s immediately clear to Rey that he is a man of power, one who is used to other people doing exactly what he tells them to do without questioning his authority.

This impression is only borne out by the way Ben immediately tenses up the minute he sees him.

Ben clears his throat. “Mr. Snoke. Um… good evening, sir.”

But Mr. Snoke pays him no mind, fixing his eyes firmly on Rey. There’s something about the way he looks at her that’s almost predatory, though Rey couldn’t describe exactly what it is about his gaze that makes her feel that way if she tried. It almost feels like Mr. Snoke is looking  _ through _ her rather than directly at her. 

It’s unnerving, to say the least.

“And who might you be?” Mr. Snoke asks her. His voice is strangely deep, and rough around the edges in a way that sort of reminds Rey of fingernails being dragged down a chalkboard.

“I’m Rey,” she says. She extends her hand and Mr. Snoke takes it in his immediately. His palm is unpleasantly cold and clammy, and he pumps her hand up and down in a perfunctory sort of shake that sends an unsettling shiver down her spine. 

Ben stiffens visibly beside her. “Rey is my wife,” he adds tersely. He shoots a pointed glance at Rey. Instinctively, she drops Mr. Snoke’s hand.

“Ah, yes,” Mr. Snoke says. He glances back at Ben before turning his attention back to Rey. “That’s right. You got married a few weeks ago. I remember now. You went to law school together, correct?”

“Yes.” Rey shoots Ben a quick glance out of the corner of her eye. If he looked nervous before, now he looks  _ terrified.  _ “We overlapped by one year.”

“I see,” Mr. Snoke says, thoughtfully. “Rey, tell me—what area of law do you practice?”

Well. This is unexpected. Rey didn’t think anyone here would have any interest in what she did professionally. She certainly didn’t think one of the name partners would care.

She takes another sip of her drink to steady herself before answering him.

“Housing law, mostly.” Rey fidgets a little, unnerved, as Snoke continues to stare at her. “But they also have me doing protective orders at the courthouse a few times each month.”

“You’re at ILSA, I take it?”

Rey nods.

“I see,” Snoke says. “You know, Rey— _ Palpatine & Snoke  _ has a robust pro bono program.” At that, Ben coughs very pointedly into his hand. Mr. Snoke pays him no mind, and adds, “Our attorneys are encouraged to devote as many volunteer hours as they would like to public interest causes that benefit our community.”

Rey takes a delicate sip from her wine glass to hide her incredulous expression. This is the sort of fraudulent garbage firm partners used to say in interviews when trying to convince students that working for them wouldn’t be the soul-crushing experience she knew it would be.

Why is Mr. Snoke telling her this?

“A strong pro bono program, huh?” Rey takes another sip of her drink as an excuse not to say anything else.

“Very strong,” he tells her. “Every year we have at least one associate who turns down a Skadden pro bono fellowship because working for us will let them do more good for the world than a year spent at some stingy little legal aid outfit.”

Rey has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from bursting into inappropriate laughter. This is complete bullshit. Why is he telling her this?

“Interesting,” she murmurs, hiding her face behind her wine glass again.

“So,” Mr. Snoke continues, “if you’re ever thinking of leaving legal aid…” He trails off, and gestures meaningfully with his hands. “Do think about sending us your C.V.”

At that Rey stares at him, jaw slack. She looks to Ben, who looks like he’s minutes away from suffering an embolism.

“Good evening, Solo,” he says, turning to Ben. “And Mrs. Solo.” Without another word, Mr. Snoke turns and walks away, leaving them alone.

“That was…” Rey doesn’t have words for what that was. She shakes her head. “That was… weird. Why would he think I’d want to come here?”

“I don’t know,” Ben says. He’s gritting his teeth the way he did when his parents were visiting and they were hiding out in the kitchen. He’s angry, she realizes—and trying to keep things under control. “But yes. It was definitely weird.” 

Rey sighs, and downs the rest of her drink. “Maybe I should consider it.”

Ben stares at her. “I’m sorry. What?”

Rey shakes her head. “I mean… I’m not going to  _ seriously _ consider it. But…” What did Ben say last week when he was sick and she was trying to take care of him? That she cares too much? That her scruples and her big heart are holding her back? 

“Maybe you were right when you said I care too much,” she says. “Maybe it would be easier if I just… I don’t know. Sold out for a little while, or something.”

“Rey,” Ben says, eyes wide. He puts his hands on her shoulders, the way he did earlier tonight back at the apartment. But while his touch earlier tonight was gentle, now it’s firm. She has no choice but to look at him. His eyes are pure electricity as they bore into hers. “I had a fever of a hundred and two when I said that. You were about to make me watch a stupid romantic comedy. I wasn’t making sense.”

“It isn’t a stupid romantic comedy,” she says. “And maybe you weren’t making sense. Or, maybe…” She looks at him, and bites her lip. “Or maybe you were making perfect sense.”

A firm like this one would certainly have the resources to sponsor a work visa for her. If she takes a job here—or at another big firm, just for a little while—it could free her up to look for something she  _ really _ wants while protecting her right to stay in this country. 

More importantly, it would mean she and Ben could stop this charade. She thinks back on his parents’ words from a few weeks ago. Yes, things have been friendlier between the two of them since Ben was ill. But everything is still really weird between them, and…

And, maybe his parents really did have the right of things after all.

When Ben doesn’t say anything—simply continues to look at her, incredulous—she asks, “Mr. Snoke would probably agree to sponsor a work visa for me, don’t you think?” 

“Rey,” Ben says. “This place isn’t fit to wipe your  _ boots _ .” He says it with so much raw urgency in his words his voice is shaking. “Don’t even  _ think _ about it.”

Something about his tone makes something inside her bristle and snap. It makes her  _ angry. “ _ Why not?” she demands. “It’s good enough for you isn’t it?”

“I’m not as good a person as you are, Rey,” he says. “ _ You _ are—”

He abruptly stops talking, then lets go of her arms as quickly as if she were a burning stove.

“I am what, Ben?” When he doesn’t reply, but instead simply folds his arms tightly across his chest, she says, “Tell me.”

He lets out a loud sigh. “You’re too good for this law firm.” He looks her in the eye. “Obviously you can do whatever you want but—” He shakes his head. “I think you would hate it here. And I hate the thought of you working here. Or at any place  _ like _ here.”

“But if I took a job at a place like this,” she says, very quietly, “and they sponsored a work visa for me, it would set you free. We wouldn’t have to keep pretending.” 

It’s like Rey has set off a bomb right here in the middle of the ballroom. Ben’s eyes go very wide and he stumbles backwards a little, away from her. He looks stricken—like she’s just punched him in the stomach, or slapped him hard across the face. 

“Rey.” He swallows. His jaw works. And then he opens his mouth to say something else, but then closes it again, apparently thinking better of it.

“Ben.” She puts her hand on his arm. He stares down at the place where she is touching him, as though he doesn’t quite know what to make of it. “I’m just saying it’s an option. Maybe.”

Rey watches him, her heart in her throat, waiting for him to say something. Part of her, she realizes, hopes he’ll tell her this is ridiculous, that he  _ wants _ to be married to her. The same silly irrational part of her that enjoyed caring for him when he was sick, that loved it when he held her close earlier tonight while they posed for selfies, is waiting for him to tell her he  _ likes _ living with her, that he likes waking up in the morning and having her in his apartment and in his bed and in his life.

But he doesn’t. 

“It’s…” Ben closes his eyes. “I mean, all of this is ultimately your choice.” He shakes his head. “Where you work. Whether or not you… stay with me.”

Rey closes her eyes, and wilfully ignores the way her heart flops uncomfortably in her chest at his words.

“I know,” Rey says, very quiet. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this time I really mean it when I say the slow burn will heat up very soon.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up needing to split what I thought was going to be a single chapter into two chapters, so I went and increased the chapter count on this story by one. 
> 
> As for my update schedule, I know things have become pretty erratic over here. Life has gotten a bit hectic recently, but I know exactly how the rest of this story is going to go and am committing to completing it over the next several weeks. 
> 
> Also, please note that there is a CW for drinking combined with light sexual activity for this chapter. For a more detailed description of what this entails, please click to this chapter's end notes <3

The sound of something crashing loudly to the floor out in the living room jolts Rey from her fitful sleep. 

A moment later there’s another loud crash, followed by something that sounds an awful lot like glass shattering—and then, from the same direction, comes the loud, unmistakable sound of Ben’s hysterical laughter. 

Something is wrong.

Rey picks up her phone from her bedside table and frowns at the display. It’s just after three in the morning. When she left the firm party at eleven Ben told her he’d be right behind her—that he needed to have a quick chat with somebody, but that he’d be home soon.

That was over four hours ago. Is he only getting home  _ now _ ? 

Rey pulls on her bathrobe and pushes her feet into slippers, then hurries down the hallway in the direction of Ben and the racket he’s making.

She stops in her tracks when she gets to the living room and sees Ben sprawled out on the floor, draped awkwardly on top of the room-sized oriental rug. 

“Rey!” Ben shouts—though from the look on his face Rey wonders if he even realizes how loud he’s being. He’s still wearing most of the suit he had on when she last saw him, though at some point he must have ditched the jacket because he isn’t wearing it now.

Rey scans the room for it. Maybe he left it behind at the hotel. 

She steps closer to him, trying hard not to stare at the spectacle he’s making of himself. But it’s difficult. He’s just so...  _ big _ . His lying flat on his back on the floor with his limbs at comical angles only enhances that. The sleeves of his white button-down shirt are rolled up to his elbows and his red silk tie—immaculately pressed and perfectly done up when they left the apartment together more than six hours ago—is a wrinkled, loosened wreck. His collar is undone, along with the two buttons immediately below it. For most men that’s nothing unusual at two in the morning after a party, probably. But in all the weeks Rey has lived with him she has never seen Ben looking so rumpled.

He was fine when she left the party. Quiet, and sullen, even for him—but fine. Or at least… he was  _ sober.  _ But it looks like at some point between when she left the party by herself and now he got completely wasted. His cheeks are so flushed right now that if Rey didn’t know better she’d think he ran the four miles back home from the party rather than getting a ride. His eyes are glazed over, and…

“Rey!” he shouts again, before devolving into a fit of giggles.

_ Giggles _ ?

Yeah; he’s definitely wasted. There’s no other possible explanation.

Rey’s wearing a shortie robe over her usual t-shirt and sleep shorts, and she nervously tugs on it a little before sitting down beside him. Up close he smells like a cross between a bottle of Merlot and a bourbon distillery. She shifts a little, looking past him—and winces when she sees the shards of broken wine glasses on the floor beneath the dining room table. 

That must be where all those crashing noises came from.

“What’s going on, Ben?” she asks, making a concerted effort to keep her voice gentle. Neutral.

Rey didn’t know Ben very well before… well,  _ before. _ But she knows him well enough now to know this isn’t like him. The Ben she knows goes to bed by ten-thirty every night and is up at five every morning for his daily run. The Ben she knows would view staying up past eleven and having two glasses of wine a wild and crazy evening.

In no universe would the Ben she knows come home from a law firm party so drunk he thinks smashing up a bunch of his wine glasses is funny. She’s pretty sure he never even got this drunk back in law school.

Ben looks at her curiously for a moment—like he’s considering her question very seriously before answering. 

“You want to know what’s going on?” he asks her, his voice still way too loud, before dissolving into another fit of giggles.

Rey rolls her eyes. “Yes,” she says. This is all so...  _ weird _ . “I want to know what’s going on.

”Well,” he begins, very slowly, once his laughter subsides. He leans closer and stage-whispers, “The truth is, Rey—I’m drunk.”

“I gathered that,” she says. “But seriously, Ben. This isn’t like you. What’s wrong?”

Ben shrugs. Or he tries to, anyway. He’s still lying flat on his back on the floor; the effect of the gesture is rather lost.

“I... sort of got upset at the party tonight,” he says, in a much quieter voice. He looks sheepish. There’s a long pause before he adds, “After you left, I mean.”

She waits for him to continue. When he doesn’t, she prompts, “You got upset?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

Rey moves a little closer to him. She takes in the dark circles ringing his eyes, and notices—for the first time—just how bloodshot they are. 

“What upset you?” she asks. She hopes the question comes off reassuring, not accusatory.

He sighs, and runs a hand through his wrecked hair. 

“People were... being assholes.”

“How so?”

Ben shrugs again—a little more successfully this time. “The people I work with are always being assholes.” Another pause. “Also I... might have tried to punch someone.” 

Rey’s eyes go wide in alarm. “What?”

“I said I  _ might _ have,” Ben clarifies, hastily. “Didn’t say that I actually  _ did.” _

“Well... did you?”

Ben shakes his head. “No,” he admits. “But I wanted to.”

An awkward silence settles between them after that. Down on the street below a car horn blares twice in rapid succession. Neither of them pay it any mind.

Eventually, Rey decides it’s finally time to ask him something she’s been wanting to ask him for weeks now.

“Ben?” Rey frowns at him. “Why do you work there? Why don’t you just... quit and find something else?” When he doesn’t answer her question, but simply stares up at the ceiling, she adds, “You could work anywhere you wanted. Why stay somewhere that makes you so miserable?”

His expression sours. “I thought you wanted to work there too.”

There’s a bitter edge to his voice that Rey does not understand but is unmistakable all the same. 

“I don’t want to work there,” she says. She shakes her head. “I really don’t. Earlier when I said it was a possibility, I was just… I don’t know.” His eyes are feverish, glazed, from the alcohol—but when he looks at her again they bore into her. She has to look away from their intensity. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says. “I was just... thinking out loud when I said that. Evaluating options. That’s all.”

At that, Ben’s expression softens a little.

“Oh,” he says.

“Yeah.” She glances back at him. He’s still looking at her, and this time she holds his gaze. “You haven’t answered my question. Why do you stay?”

“You’re... really smart, Rey,” Ben says, reverently, dodging her question a second time. “You’ve... you’ve always been so smart.”

And then without warning, Ben does a full body stretch, reaching his arms so far over his head he can practically touch the wall behind him. When his fingertips  _ do _ brush up against the wall he starts to laugh again. 

Rey is totally bewildered. He isn’t making any sense. He needs to take a couple Advil, drink a glass of water, and go to bed.

“Look, Ben,” she says. “It’s late. I’m tired. I’m going to go back to bed. I think you should go to bed too, because—”

“You’re also really  _ fucking _ gorgeous.”

He mumbles the words more than says them, his voice so quiet and his words so slurred Rey almost doesn’t understand them at first. But then he looks at her— _ really _ looks at her, with the unique kind of focused concentration of a person having a hard time keeping the world from spinning beneath their feet. And then, all at once, she  _ feels _ his words in her bones, in the pit of her stomach.

Her heart races, hammers hard in her ears, as she tries to process what he’s just told her.

“I… I am not,” she stammers. She’s blushing now, she can tell—but she’s too flustered right now to care. She tugs at the hem of her robe some more, trying to pull it down so that it covers more of her bare legs. It doesn’t accomplish much. She looks away from him again, down at the rug underneath them—but she can  _ feel _ his eyes on her all the same.

Her face grows hot as he continues to stare at her. She wonders if her cheeks are as red as his were a few minutes ago when she entered the room.

“You  _ are _ gorgeous, Rey.” He’s moving, trying to push himself off the floor and up into a sitting position. After what feels like several minutes he finally manages it, and he inclines his head, his whole body, towards her. He’s radiating almost as much heat right now, even from a few feet away, as he was when he was sick with the flu. 

“Ben—”

“You are the most gorgeous person I have ever known.” His voice is thick, and full, suddenly of emotion. He swallows, and shakes his head. “I thought I could handle living with you. Living with you but not touching you.” He closes his eyes. “I did. I thought… I thought I could just live with you as… as a friend, and—”

He abruptly stops talking. His eyes drift down to her mouth.

Everything happens so quickly after that.

His lips on hers are so soft, but clumsy and awkward, as he kisses her like he’s never done anything like this before—which Rey knows, from personal experience, isn’t true. His mouth tastes awful—like the expensive red wine they served at the party and breath mints—but he doesn’t seem to care about that when he grips Rey’s waist and angles his head to deepen the kiss. In truth, Rey doesn’t really care either. Her mind is racing, torn as she is between dizzy relief that at last,  _ at last _ , he is kissing her—and the sharp regret that he is clearly only kissing her because he is drunk, and unhappy about whatever happened after she left the party.

“Ben—” she tries to say. But he won’t let her talk. His lips are back on hers, kissing her, swallowing up the rest of what she’d been about to tell him.

A moment later he pushes awkwardly at her shoulders until she falls back onto the plush carpeting they’re sitting on, its thick fibers providing a kind of cushion beneath her.

“So gorgeous,” Ben breathes. “You are… fuck. Beautiful.” He’s staring down at her, his broad chest heaving, his mouth hanging half-open with such a look of wonder on his face it nearly takes Rey’s breath away. His lips are even fuller than usual. They look plump.  _ Kissed _ . “I want…  _ god _ . Rey, all night long, all I’ve wanted to do is…”

If Rey were a good person, she would put a stop to this. She would get up off this carpet, remind Ben that he’s drunk— _ very _ drunk, in fact, based on the way he’s listing a little to the side as he regards her and slurring his words—and go to bed in her own room.

He wouldn’t want this if he were sober, she  _ knows _ he wouldn’t—because if he  _ had _ wanted this before why has he never done anything about it since the morning his parents interrupted them? 

But as Ben runs the pad of his thumb along her bottom lip with a gentleness that surprises her, sending delicious shivers running down her spine, Rey is overcome with the sudden realization that she  _ isn’t _ a good person. Not at all.

Instead of stopping this, she reaches up with a shaking hand and sifts her fingers through his long, soft hair. His eyes flutter closed on a sigh that’s full of longing and contentment. She cups his face and he leans into her touch, making another sound deep in the back of his throat that’s half sigh, half groan. The sound of it does something to her that Rey couldn’t put into words if she tried. He brushes another clumsy kiss to her lips, and then another, and then before Rey even knows what she’s doing she is kissing him back, winding her arms around his neck and pulling him down on top of her.

He wastes no time after that, pushing her sleeping shirt up until her tummy is bare, making her shiver involuntarily as the cool air from the room hits her skin. He splays his large, warm hand right across her belly, covering it completely. His hands are just  _ so big _ , just like the rest of him, and she shudders again as he pushes her shirt up further, as he traces the seam of her lips with the tip of his tongue, and—

Ben shifts a little so that he’s lying more fully on top of her. And that’s when she feels it: his erection, just as thick and hard against her thigh as it had been against her ass the morning they woke up together in his bed. 

The effect it has on her is electrifying—she wants to know what it would be like to have his cock in her hand; what it would  _ feel  _ like, pushing inside of her, filling her up—but is also like a bucket of cold water dumped on her head, bringing her halfway to her senses.

He’s still kissing her lips, still inching his hand higher and higher up her body until the edge of his hand bumps up against the underside of her breasts.  _ He could palm them _ —both of them— _ so easily in a single hand _ , she thinks, rubbing her thighs together without realizing she’s doing it.

They shouldn’t do this. They  _ can’t _ do this. He’s  _ drunk. _ A moment ago he was smashing up his wine glasses and laughing about it. He isn’t himself.

He lifts her shirt up further, and sucks in a sharp breath at the sight of her tits, bare before his eyes. She can see in his eyes that he wants to touch them, wants to  _ taste _ them, but…

Before she can talk herself out of doing it Rey claps one of her hands on top of his and squeezes hard, stilling his movements.

“We can’t do this,” she breathes.

“We  _ can _ .” Ben’s words come out as a petulant whine. He’s moving faster now, as though he wants to prove her statement wrong through actions, not just words. He starts kissing every part of her he can reach. Her lips. The deliciously sensitive spot where her neck meets her shoulder. The underside of one of her breasts, then the other. “ _ Rey _ —”

“Ben,” she says again, though the single word comes out far more breathy than she’d intended. It feels so good, having his mouth, his hands on her body. She doesn’t  _ want _ this to stop.

But she puts her hands on his shoulders all the same, and gently pushes at him until he stops what he’s doing. 

“You’re drunk,” she tells him.

He lets out a huff of frustration. “I don’t  _ care _ .”

“But  _ I _ care.” She shakes her head. “I don’t want this, Ben. Not right now.” She bites her lip. “And you don’t want this either. Not really.”

At that, Ben pulls back. He looks down at her, the expression on his face a heartbreaking mix of hurt and disappointment. 

But after what feels like several very long minutes, he nods, understanding. He lets out a low breath. 

“Okay,” he says. He pulls back from her further until he’s sitting up again. “I get it.”

And then, he reaches down without any apparent embarrassment and adjusts himself inside his slacks. Rey gapes openly at the sight of his hand palming his cock before she can tell herself not to do it. 

He stands up with a bit of difficulty, wobbling a little on unsteady legs before he finally manages to stand upright. The way he weaves and stumbles a little as he slowly makes his way into the kitchen—for a glass of water, presumably—only confirms for Rey that she made the right choice in stopping this. 

But when he looks back at her over his shoulder on his way down the hall towards his bedroom, his eyes blank—it twists her heart, just how badly she wishes this could have happened under any other circumstances.

“Maybe… tomorrow, we could try again, if you’re….” she begins, falteringly, trying to think of a way to salvage this.

But he’s already in his bedroom, his door closed shut behind him, and he doesn’t hear her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More detailed CW: Ben is drunk and initiates a make-out session and light sexual activity with Rey, who is sober. Rey goes along with things at first, but puts a complete stop to it before it gets very far.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI HELLO! I am SO SORRY for the delay (again) between updates (again). I spent most of February alternately modding the Reylo Charity Anthology (we raised over $19,000 for charity!!!) and traveling to a different city to (successfully!) convince a new employer to give me a new job. These activities basically left no time at all for writing for the entire month of February.
> 
> That said, all of those things have now been conquered, it is now March, and here we are with chapter 10. 
> 
> If you are still reading, THANK YOU for sticking with me the past few months as things have gotten a little nutty in my real life. The plan, now that things have calmed way down is to update this story about once per week from now on until it is finished. <3

The train ride to USCIS is awkward and strained. 

“Are you ready?” Rey asks. She  _ knows _ Ben’s ready, of course. The idea of him not being ready for something—for  _ anything _ ; even something like this—defies belief. But the tension between them is so thick right now it feels like she could reach out and grab it in both hands. And their train car is strangely empty for three-thirty on a Monday afternoon, which only makes things worse.

In short, Rey is desperate for  _ something  _ to say, if only to cut through the stifling quiet.

Ben turns his head a little to look at her before quickly looking away again, his face completely impassive. They’re sitting next to each other— _ right _ next to each other—which shouldn’t even be possible on the Brown Line during the afternoon commute. Then again, Rey also shouldn’t be this aware of just how closely they are sitting to each other. Seats on the El are cramped even under the best of circumstances, even when the people sitting in them are  _ not _ the size and general shape of a surly refrigerator. Right now the outsides of their thighs are practically touching, separated by less than an inch of charged space, and—

_ And _ , this is the closest she’s physically been to Ben since the night of the law firm party. Or, as she’s come to think of it, the night everything between them went to shit. Rey knows she needs to keep to the script and make sure the facts she’s memorized are straight in her head. But despite how important she knows this appointment with USCIS is—despite the fact that everything rides on them getting this interview exactly right—all she wants to do right now is beg Ben to  _ listen _ to her for fuck’s sake as she tells him all the muddled thoughts roiling through her head.

Because god knows he hasn’t listened to her this week. They’ve hardly even  _ seen _ each other this week. If she’d seen him for more than a few moments here and there—as he was heading out the door for a run; in the moments before he got up to excuse himself from whatever room she’d just entered—she would have explained to him that it isn’t that she hadn’t  _ wanted _ him the other night. She  _ had _ wanted him. She had wanted to touch him, to help him out of the rest of his suit. To follow him back to his room. 

The only issue had been that he was drunk, and not thinking clearly. Had he come to her that night stone cold sober, and told her that he wanted her…

“Yeah. I’m ready,” he finally tells her. His voice is emotionless, flat, no inflection in it at all. Rey swallows thickly around the lump in her throat. “This won’t be difficult.”

Rey nods. “I know it won’t, but—”

“Rey,” he says, curtly, cutting her off. “We’ve been over this. We know what we’re going to say to them.” A pause. “This isn’t rocket science.”

“Ben—”

“I know what to say to make them think this is real.” He looks at her again, fleetingly, before turning his complete attention to an invisible spot of nothing over her right shoulder. “So do you, I think.”

With that, Ben slides his phone from the front pocket of his jeans and begins scrolling through his emails. A clear sign that from his perspective, this conversation is over.

Rey closes her eyes and leans back against the hard plastic subway seat, resting the back of her head on the wall of the train car as it jostles beneath them. She tries to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as the train winds its way towards the Loop and their four o’clock appointment.

She needs to convince the USCIS interviewer that she’s fallen in love with Ben.

The only trouble is… she no longer thinks it’s a lie.

\---------

By the time they finally get to the cold, sterile government office where they will be having their interview today Rey’s nerves have ratcheted all the way up to eleven. 

The waiting room is a lot more crowded than the train was, with people talking loudly in several different languages. That helps a bit. The noise here, and the general commotion, partially diffuse the awkward tension that settled between them on their trip here. 

Rey takes an empty seat near the front door, tucking her hands beneath her to keep them from shaking. Ben looks like he’s about to cross the room to where another row of hard-backed folding chairs line the far wall, but Rey reaches out and grabs his wrist before he can move away from her.

She isn’t applying much pressure, and he could easily break free of her grasp if he wanted to. But he doesn’t. The moment her fingers encircle his wrist he stops in his tracks. 

“We should sit together,” she murmurs under her breath, trying not to think about how this is the first time she’s touched him in a week. His hands are not shaking like hers are but they are large, and very warm. She tries not to think about that, either. “It will look weird if you’re sitting all the way across the room from me.” 

He turns to look at her.

After a moment he says, “You’re... probably right.” 

Without another word Ben takes the chair besides hers and sits down in it. The chairs are small—nearly as small as the ones on the train—and Ben looks like a giant sitting beside her. Like an adult at a parent-teacher conference trying to squeeze themselves into a chair intended for children.

As they wait for their names to be called, Ben periodically turns his head to look at her. Once, it looks like he wants to tell her something—his lips part, and he gives her an odd, expectant look—but then the moment passes, he shakes his head a little, and goes back to scrolling through the emails on his phone. 

* * *

The USCIS employee who’s interviewing them today—Angela Stafford, according to the black plastic name plate on the outside of her office door—is nothing like Rey expected. She isn’t sleek, or polished, or intimidating in the slightest. She doesn’t look like she gets off on the power her position here at USCIS gives her over other people’s lives.

She looks about Rey’s age, or maybe a little older. Mostly, though, she looks like the government employee Rey suddenly realizes she is. Ms. Stafford looks rumpled, under-caffeinated, a little stressed—and maybe just a bit tired. 

When Ben and Rey walk into her office she gives them a reassuring smile that looks genuine.

“Welcome,” she says, sitting behind a narrow desk piled high with files. She motions towards a cheap IKEA couch across the desk from her. “Please—sit down. Make yourselves comfortable.”

Rey doesn’t think it’s possible for her to make herself comfortable under present circumstances, but she tries to do as she’s instructed. She sits down on the edge of the couch and tries to force herself to stop jiggling her leg out of nervousness. Ben sits stiffly beside her, one hand resting delicately on her knee. For Ms. Stafford’s benefit, of course. Fortunately, Ben seems to have left the cool demeanor he’s been showing Rey all day back in the waiting room. Right now he is playing the role of the attentive husband, inclining his body a little towards Rey the way they practiced together in all the days and weeks they’ve practiced this.

Ms. Stafford gives them another quick look, then slides the top file off the stack closest to her.

She opens it, nodding a little to herself. 

“Ah, yes,” she says. “Here we are.” She looks up at them and smiles again. “Rey and Ben Solo.”

Rey swallows, her heart racing a little in spite of herself at the sound of their married names. Ben nods. “That’s us,” he says.

“Right,” Ms. Stafford says. She must be able to see how nervous Rey is from the look on her face because she adds, “Please, Rey—you can relax. This—” she gestures to the files on her desk, to the room around them— “is mostly just a formality.”

Ben shifts a little beside her on the couch. The outside of his leg brushes against hers. Rey digs her fingernails into her palms, willing her heart rate to slow down and reminding herself, for the hundredth time, that she can do this.

“I’m… glad to hear it,” Rey says. “You’re right, though. We’ve been nervous.”

“Of course you’ve been nervous.” Ms. Stafford glances down at her file again and turns a page. “I get it. I really do. The process is scary for everyone. But as long as your marriage is real you have nothing to worry about.” 

Rey has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from reacting to that comment. But if Ben is thrown by it he doesn’t show it. He clears his throat and asks, in a calm, collected voice, “Do you want to do our joint interview first?”

“Oh.” Ms. Stafford looks back down at the file. “Yes. Since I have both of you together, yeah.” She bites her lip and glances at a calendar on her desk. “Since it’s already four we’ll likely have to schedule your separate interviews another for another time.”

“Of course,” Ben says, giving Rey’s knee a gentle squeeze. She’s leans in towards him a little—just a slight inclining of her head closer to his—but it’s enough to earn a subtle, approving nod from Ms. Stafford.

She turns towards her desktop computer and starts paging through whatever’s on her screen. “Let’s start at the beginning, all right?” She looks at them. “Tell me about how you met.” 

Rey relaxes a little. This is something they expected. Something easy. 

They  _ rehearsed  _ this.

“We went to the same law school,” Ben says, the way he’s done dozens of times before. His hand trembles a little on Rey’s knee, but just a little. Fortunately, Ms. Stafford doesn’t seem to notice; she’s still looking at the documents on her computer. “Rey started law school after me, but we overlapped one year.”

“We have a common friend. Poe Dameron,” Rey adds. “He... he introduced us.”

“Poe Dameron,” Ms. Stafford repeats. She draws her finger down her computer screen. “Ah, yes. Here he is.” She looks at the two of them. “He’s on my list of people to get in touch with.”

Rey lets out a low breath. They’d expected this, too, of course. Rey’s glad she spent the past few days getting in touch with everyone to remind them they might expect a call from the government soon.

“Poe’s an odd one,” Ben adds. “But I’ve known him all my life.”

“Oh?” Ms. Stafford asks.

Ben nods. “Our parents are old friends.”

“I see.” Ms. Stafford pauses, and then asks, “Would you say he knows you pretty well, then?”

Ben nods. “I would.”

“And does he know Rey pretty well, too?”

“I met him more recently than Ben did,” Rey says. “But Poe’s been dating one of my best friends for a few years now and… and, yeah. I’d say Poe knows me pretty well too at this point.”

“Great.” Ms. Stafford makes a few more notes on her computer. “Moving on… can you tell me how you two got together?”

Rey relaxes a little more. They expected this one, too. So far Ms. Stafford is sticking entirely to the sorts of questions the government’s web site told them they could expect today.

“We started dating about a year ago,” Ben says. The lie slips out so easily, and Ben doesn’t show any sign of distress at all—no visible anxiety, no wavering voice. For the first time, it occurs to Rey that Ben must be an absolute force to be reckoned with in the courtroom.

“A year ago,” Ms. Stafford repeats. “Okay. How much before that time would you say you started noticing Rey?”

Ben frowns. “Noticing her?”

Ms. Stafford makes a vague gesture with her hands. “Noticing her. Or, phrased a different way—when did you first realize you  _ liked _ her, or had romantic feelings towards her?”

Rey feels Ben stiffen on the couch beside her. This had not been on any of the lists of questions they found online. They hadn’t practiced this one.

Or at least, she hadn’t.

She turns her head a little—just enough to catch the expression on Ben’s face. His eyes have gone a little wide. He can’t have expected it either, then.

Ben licks his lips and swallows.

“I...” he begins, then pauses. “I noticed her quite a while before we started dating.”

“You realized you had romantic feelings for Rey quite a while before you started dating?”

Ben nods, a simple, quick jerk of his chin.

Ms. Stafford makes a few notes on her computer. “When would you say you first noticed Rey, then?”

Ben takes a deep breath and then blows it out, very, slowly through his mouth.

“Um. I’d have to say… probably about an hour or so after I first met her,” he murmurs, at half his usual volume. He lifts a hand and runs it through his hair. Rey notices his hand is shaking more noticeably now; probably due to having to come up with a convincing lie on the spur of the moment. 

More typing from Ms. Stafford. “And when did you meet Rey?”

“It was the October of her first year of law school,” Ben says. “My third year. Our law school used to put on this stupid ‘law school prom’ that everyone made fun of but would go to anyway.” Ben shakes his head. “A group of us went to it together that year and… and Rey came.”

“I see,” Ms. Stafford says. “Rey, do you remember this event?”

Of course she remembers it. Their whole group got ridiculously dressed up for it, even though they held it in the law school’s dining hall. Ben had been there, wearing a really nice suit, looking like an absolute snack and utterly miserable. She’d had a hard time keeping her eyes off him that night, and maybe it had been the first time they met but they can’t have exchanged more than a handful of words the whole night. Her memory of the night is addled by all the alcohol she drank, but she’s pretty sure Ben spent most of evening alternately talking with one of their professors and sulking by himself in the far corner of the room.

“Yes,” Rey says. “I remember it.”

“It must have been a wonderful night,” Ms. Stafford remarks.

“It was horrible,” Ben says.

“Oh?” Ms Stafford raises an eyebrow. “I thought this was the night you first noticed Rey.”

Ben pulls a face. “I mean—it was  _ mostly  _ horrible. I can’t stand most lawyers, or law students, and as you can imagine that’s basically who was at this party.”

Ms. Stafford looks at him. “But you noticed Rey at the party?”

“I did.”

“And you were able to stand her, right?”

“Without question.”

Ms. Stafford leans forward a little. “What was different about her?”

Ben lets out a loud sigh as he closes his eyes. He bites his lip, the way he does whenever he’s trying to choose his next words very carefully. 

“Poe had... told me a little about Rey, before the party,” he eventually says. “The way your friends will tell you things in passing about their other friends. But…” He pauses. “But nothing could have prepared me for the reality of meeting Rey Niima face to face.” Ben sounds almost reverent as he says the words. 

All of this is completely off the script they prepared for today. Rey has no idea how he’s coming up with  _ any _ of it so quickly. 

“And what was it like, meeting Rey face to face?”

“It was like…” Ben trails off, frowning as he tries to find the right words. “It was like coming up for sunlight after being cooped up in a windowless room for an entire month. Only… only you hadn’t even realized you’d been deprived of the sun until you walked outside and suddenly, the sunshine was all you can see.” 

When he finishes speaking he turns to face Rey for the first time since they sat down in Ms. Stafford’s office. His face is so open, so full of unmistakable longing and devotion it steals the breath from her lungs.

This—the words he just said; the look he is giving her now—none of it was part of the script they rehearsed.

“And then what happened, Ben?” 

Ben blows out a breath. “And  _ then…  _ it was only a few weeks after that, I think, when I started falling in love with Rey’s commitment to always doing what’s right, with her tenacity… and with her indomitable spirit.”

A long pause. And then—”Rey,” he adds, very quietly, directly to her.  _ Only _ for her. Ms. Stafford might as well not even be in the room anymore for as little thought as Rey is giving her. Her name on his lips sounds like nothing so much as a confession, like all the words they haven’t spoken to one another these past few weeks. Rey’s head is spinning; Ben’s warm hand, resting gently on her knee, is the only thing tethering her to this earth.

Distantly, Rey hears Ms. Stafford let out a low whistle. And then, just like that, the moment shatters. The open look on Ben’s face lifts like fog at dawn, leaving behind only the impassive mask he’s been wearing all week whenever she’s around.

He clears his throat.

He slides his hand off her knee and clasps both his hands together on his lap. She feels the absence of his touch like a physical blow, muted only by the fact that there are a pair of strangers’ eyes watching her. 

“Thank you, Ben,” Ms. Stafford says. “That was very helpful. And really sweet.” She smiles at him, and then makes a few more quick notes on her computer before turning to Rey. Rey braces herself for the next question, hoping beyond hope that it’ll be something easy, something they practiced, something like—

“Rey, can you tell me about Ben’s morning routine?”

Rey blinks hard. “I’m sorry. What?”

“His morning routine,” Ms. Stafford says again. “You know—what time he wakes up in the morning, what he usually eats for breakfast. That sort of thing.”

“Oh.” Rey blinks a few more times, trying to get her heart rate under control again. This was one of the questions they found online. One of the questions they talked about and planned their answer for ahead of time.

The only trouble is, in the aftermath of what Ben just said to her, everything they rehearsed for this moment has flown right out of her head.

She closes her eyes, and tries to think back over the past several weeks of mornings with him.

She can’t remember what they agreed she would say—but fortunately, she doesn’t need to. She can do this. 

She knows him. She’s learned him, since moving in with him.

Ben is nothing if not a creature of habit. She could list off the elements of Ben’s morning routine in her  _ sleep _ .

“Ben gets up really early every day,” Rey says. “Around five. Which is… I mean, that’s a lot earlier than I get up. I’m still in bed way past five every morning but I always hear him puttering around in the kitchen as he gets ready for his run.”

“He runs?” Ms. Stafford makes a note on her computer. “How far does he go?”

“Five miles most days,” Rey says. “Something like that. Seven or more on the weekends.”

“Wow.”

“It’s nuts, isn’t it?” Rey laughs a little. She glances at Ben out of the corner of her eye before turning her attention back to Ms. Stafford.

“Very nuts,” Ms. Stafford agrees. 

“Anyway,” Rey continues, “by the time he comes back from running I’m usually up. He goes into the kitchen and makes himself a horrible green smoothie before taking a shower. He puts, like… all sorts of weird things in it, like kale and spinach and things.” Rey pauses, and then adds, “But before he goes into the shower he puts out the egg carton on the counter because he knows I like eggs for breakfast, but that I don’t like handling them when they’re super cold.”

“Oh?” Ms. Stafford says. “You don’t?”

“No,” Rey says. She turns her head to look at Ben, who’s watching her with an expression on his face she can’t quite read. “I don’t. And Ben… Ben knows that. So he takes the eggs out for me so I won’t have to do it myself.”

On impulse, spontaneously, Rey puts her hand on Ben’s knee and gives it a gentle squeeze. This was not part of what they rehearsed; but right now, all she wants to do is to be touching him. She can hear Ben’s sharp, surprised intake of breath at the contact.

“Ben can have a prickly, detached exterior,” Rey continues. “But what most people don’t know about him is that he’s… he’s really…”

Rey trails off, and bites her lip.

Ms. Stafford leans forward across her desk. “He’s really what, Rey?”

Rey swallows. “Kind,” she says eventually. “Thoughtful. He’s always doing little things for me, always trying to help me in little ways to make my day easier.” She swallows. “They mean so much to me, the little things he does.” She looks at Ben and adds, directly to him, “I... don’t even know if he realizes how much they mean to me.”

Ms. Stafford nods. “What kinds of things does he do for you?”

“Oh, all sorts of things,” Rey says. “He always knows where I’ve laid my keys when I can’t find them. He puts my shoes away for me. Our first morning as a married couple he…” Rey trails off, blushing a little at the memory of finding Ben in the kitchen, his broad back to her, not wearing a shirt. He’d been so embarrassed to have been caught half-dressed like that. But it had been all Rey could do to tear her eyes away from him.

“Your first morning as a married couple, he… what, exactly?” Ms. Stafford prompts.

Rey turns in her seat so that she’s looking right at Ben. His look from a few moments ago is back again. His eyes are bright and his mouth hangs open a little, as though he’s waiting for baited breath for her to finish the recollection.

She puts her hand on his knee again. This time, he covers it with his own. When he squeezes it she can feel her heart clench in response.

“He... made me breakfast,” she says. “A really nice one. And he made sure I ate it. No one… no one’s ever done that for me before.” On impulse, she flips her hand over on his leg and twines their fingers together. Ben’s fingers are so thick Rey needs to spread hers apart a little awkwardly for them to fit between them. But nothing has ever felt so right, the way his palm feels pressed up against hers, here in this awkward interview room. She closes her eyes a moment, reveling in how good it feels, to be touching him like this. For him to  _ want _ her to touch him like this.

For all she knows, the minute they leave this interview they will be right back to where they were an hour ago. Somehow, though, it feels like they’ve turned a corner in their not-really-a-relationship. Somehow…

Somehow, after hearing his confession and sharing hers, it feels like everything is going to be different from now on.

Her heartbeat picks up again at the very idea of it.

“Ben sounds like he’s pretty special,” Ms. Stafford notes, cutting into Rey’s reverie.

Rey thinks a moment, and then nods in agreement. 

“Yeah,” she says, very quietly. She chances another glance at Ben. He’s still looking at her—gazing at her, really; like she hung the moon—and her heartbeat speeds up even more. “He is pretty special.”

* * *

They leave Ms. Stafford’s office together just after five o’clock. They’re still holding hands; Ben never let go of Rey’s once they twined their fingers together. And Rey wasn’t about to drop his.

When they get to the street below Rey stops, and tugs on Ben’s hand to stop him. He pauses, and turns to look at her. 

“Do… do you think we convinced her?” she asks him. Though she thinks she already knows the answer. 

Ben’s eyes go distant for a moment, and he doesn’t answer her right away. He looks down at the ground, and rocks back on his heels before reaching up and tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. 

When he finishes, his hand hovers in the air a brief moment, hesitating, before he moves it closer and gently cups the side of her face. Ben’s hand is still so warm as she leans into him, breathing deeply to try and pull as much of his touch into herself as she can. 

“Yeah,” Ben says eventually, his voice thick and earnest. He leans in closer, and gives her a small, conspiratorial half-smile Rey can feel all the way down to her toes. “I think we did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Poll:
> 
> Smut in the next chapter -- yes or no??? ;)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this chapter is coming to you a bit later than I'd originally thought it would. My big plans to finish this story by the end of March flew out the window when the world... uh. Fell apart. But here we are! Chapter 11. Better late then never?? (*hides face in hands*)
> 
> Thank you to everyone who left such lovely comments on the last chapter, and to those of you who voted in the very important poll I posted in the end notes. Your voices were heard. ;)
> 
> Finally, and most importantly -- To any of you who are still reading this story, I hope this chapter finds you safe and healthy and well in these scary times, wherever you might be. <3

The Uber that comes for them ten minutes later is smaller than the one Rey thought she ordered after leaving their interview. But then, it’s hard for her to think straight with Ben looking at her the way he is right now, his dark eyes wide and earnest. 

She wonders if he’s even half as stunned right now as she feels. 

When the grey Toyota pulls up to the curb Rey opens the passenger-side door with a shaking hand. Ben’s hand slides down to the small of her back as he helps her inside the vehicle and she shivers, the way Ben moves in beside her, folding his body nearly in half in order to wedge himself into the too-small backseat.

The outsides of their thighs are pressed together again, the way they were on the train. Rey fights the urge to make herself small, to curl inward and protect herself from the way her heart is hammering in her chest just from being so close to him.

She’s being ridiculous. She doesn’t even know whether he meant any of what he said in that interview. 

And if he didn’t...

“Lincoln Park?”

The driver’s sharp voice cuts through Rey’s muddled thoughts. She shakes her head, trying to clear it.

“Um. Yeah,” she says. “2313 N. Seminary.”

The driver nods. “Got it.” 

He turns on the radio to something poppy and upbeat, something Rose would probably like. But he isn’t talking to them anymore and Rey’s attention turns back to Ben, who’s looking at her with the same enraptured expression he’s been wearing ever since they left the interview.

He shifts beside her, looking like he wants to say something.

But he stays quiet, and simply continues to look at her, hesitating. It isn’t long before Rey loses her patience and makes up her mind to just  _ ask _ him if he meant what he said.

Before she can get out the words he closes the distance between them and presses his lips to hers. 

The kiss is chaste, and over almost before it began. Feather-light and insubstantial as snow flurries at dawn. But the effect it has on Rey is electrifying. Ben pulls back minutely to look at her, eyes hooded and vulnerable.

“Ben,” she whispers, and then his mouth is on her again, his lips slanting soft and warm over hers as he winds his arms around her and pulls her close. Rey is distantly aware that there is a driver in the front seat of this Uber, and that any number of people in surrounding cars can probably see them kissing. But there’s no space for any of that in her head right now. All she can think about is Ben—the way he is tracing the seam of her lips with the tip of his tongue; how wonderful it feels when his big warm hands come up to gently frame her face; how his tongue sliding against hers is soft, warm,  _ incredible _ . He wordlessly coaxes her body to melt against his, and she leans impossibly closer to him on a quiet sigh that pulls a matching one from him.

The driver chooses that moment to clear his throat, loudly and theatrically, from the front seat.

“The weather we’re having right now is a bit shit, isn’t it?” he says sourly.

The moment shatters. Rey freezes, Ben’s lips on hers and his strong arms still wrapped around her shoulders. 

No matter how much she wants this they really can’t do this here. Not in the backseat of this Uber, where the driver can watch the whole thing from the rearview mirror. 

And make snide comments about it.

Ben seems to come to the same conclusion. He chuckles a little and says, “Maybe… maybe we should stop.”

Rey nods, and rests her forehead against his, letting her eyes slip closed. He sighs quietly. She can practically feel the disappointment rolling off of him. 

She recognizes it for what it is—because she feels it, too.

“Could we…” He trails off, and starts drawing little circles on the tops of her thighs with his thumbs. His hands are trembling a little. Her heart twists in her chest at his sweet vulnerability. “Could we possibly pick this up again when we get back to the apartment?”

His voice is low, quiet, his words meant only for her ears. Her heartbeat quickens, crashing hard against her ribcage. His words are vague, but she knows exactly what he’s asking her.

She bites her lip. She nods. 

He huffs out another small laugh.

“Good,” Ben says, pressing another chaste kiss to her lips. The energy humming between them right now… it’s delicious. It’s  _ intoxicating _ . Rey doesn’t want it to ever end. “Good.”

They stay like that, their foreheads pressed together, his hands resting gently on her thighs, until a minute or an hour later the driver finally pulls up in front of their building.

* * *

The climb up four flights of stairs to their apartment feels like it takes forever. 

Rey isn’t the only one who’s impatient to get inside. She can sense Ben’s own impatience—though he tries to hide it—by the little huffs he makes every time they reach a new landing.

His hand is strong and steady at the small of her back as he climbs just behind her. But when Rey pulls the key from her purse—turns the lock; opens the door—her own hand trembles from a combination of nerves and giddy anticipation. 

Rey hasn’t taken off her shoes yet—hasn’t even had a chance to properly set her purse down on the table by the front door—before Ben’s hands find her shoulders and he pulls her roughly to him.

“Ben, I—” she begins. But he swallows up the rest of her words as he crushes his lips to hers with an intensity that takes her breath away. Her purse slips from her hands, forgotten, and falls with a loud thud to the hardwood floor. Her hands flutter upwards, and his shirt is soft beneath her fingers, so close-fitting she can easily feel the defined muscles beneath it. 

Before she even realizes she’s doing it she’s smoothing her hands down Ben’s long torso, and he makes a helpless, needy sound in the back of his throat Rey wants to hear him make again and again. 

“Rey,” he murmurs, pulling away. Her hands are still on his chest, sliding back up again, until they reach his collar. She plays with it idly, loving the way the ends of his long hair tickle her fingers. His eyes are soft, unfocused. “What… what are you doing?”

She grins meaningfully up at him. “I... like your shirt.” 

He swallows. “You do?”

“Yeah.” She lets her eyes drop to where the button just below his collar strains against his broad chest. How he doesn’t bust out of all his dress shirts is beyond her. All those poor, put-upon buttons. She bites her lip and looks up at him again from beneath her lashes. If before he looked dazed, reverent—like he couldn’t quite believe this was happening—now he looks predatory, hungry. 

Like he wants to devour her, and is only holding himself back from doing just that through sheer force of will.

The look he is giving her right now… it makes her heart race. It makes her thighs clench. 

Emboldened, she raises an eyebrow and adds, “I like what’s  _ beneath _ your shirt, too.” 

It isn’t an especially smooth thing to say, but Ben doesn’t seem to mind. His nostrils flare at her unsubtle innuendo, his fingertips dig into her hips, and—

And then, unexpectedly, he spins them, and pushes Rey bodily up against the wall. He raises his arms and brackets her head with them, resting them on the wall behind her. Then he presses his hips into hers, effectively pinning her in place. 

“Ben,” she gasps, her breath leaving her body in a surprised rush. Her heart is racing now, blood thrumming hotly through her veins. His hands trail up and down her arms, just a few degrees past gentle, and despite the fact that she is wearing a long-sleeved shirt the feeling of it—the knowledge that this is  _ Ben _ , her husband,  _ touching her _ —is enough to leave behind twin trails of gooseflesh beneath her clothes. 

Now that Ben is touching her he can’t seem to  _ stop _ touching her. His hands, his lips—they are  _ everywhere.  _ He is everywhere, all at once, mouthing at the pulse point beneath her ear with lips and tongue, his hands finding her arms, her hips, moving impossibly closer.

It isn’t long before she can feel him—all of him—pressing warm and needful against her belly. 

He’s achingly hard already, just from this. A hot stab of need snakes through her at the realization that she’s rendered this man helpless in minutes. As if to further prove it he begins moving against her with a frenetic, almost panicked energy, as though terrified that if he stops moving, stops touching her, she will disappear.

In truth—she can relate. 

Her body responds immediately to his ministrations, utterly pliant beneath his hands, every single part of her crackling and alive with the pleasure of his touch. Her knees are suddenly so weak if he weren’t pinning her to the wall with his body she’d probably melt into a wet puddle at his feet.

“Rey,” he murmurs. He laughs a little—maybe he’s still unable to believe this is happening— before pressing a lingering open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive spot where her neck meets her shoulder. He presses into her again, meaningfully, bracketing her legs with his own, and she gasps, the erection inside his slacks pressing so urgently against her it is suddenly the only thing she can feel.

He’s just… so big. 

She wonders if tonight she will finally get to see him. 

Because she  _ wants _ to see him. She wants to touch his cock—hold it in her hands. She wants to feel it—in her mouth; thrusting roughly in and out of her cunt as he groans her name into her ear.

Her thighs clench reflexively, in anticipation, almost without her realizing she’s doing it. But Ben notices. His eyes widen and his nostrils flare, and his cock twitches against her, making her whimper before she can stop herself. 

“Ben,” she says again, her voice breathier than usual. His eyes snap to hers, and they’re so dark now—unfocused, hungry in a way Rey has never seen. He leans forward and fastens his sinful lips to her collarbone, begins worrying at the spot with his tongue, flooding her with sensation and making her panties damper than they’ve been in recent memory.

He hums against her skin. “I want…”

He breathes the words into her flesh more than says them, his warm breath tickling her and inflaming her in equal measure.

“What… what do you want?” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

He pulls back and looks her in the eye. “I want to make you come, Rey.” He swallows. “On my tongue.”

Rey’s mouth goes dry. She puts a hand on his chest to steady herself. He quickly covers it with his own, and gives it an urgent squeeze. “You… you do?”

He nods. “It’s all I’ve thought about for weeks. How you’ll taste, Rey.” He reaches forward and gently, gently traces down the side of her cheek with the tip of a finger, making her shiver. 

“Are you...  _ sure _ that’s all you’ve thought about?” Rey stops, a little surprised with herself. She doesn’t know where this boldness is coming from, can count on one hand the number of times in her life she’s tried to be seductive. All she knows is she wants, very badly, to be seductive. To seduce him.

He swallows. “I’ve... thought about how you’ll look, all splayed out on my bed.” His eyes drop to her chest. “I’ve thought about how your pretty little tits will bounce when I pound into you.” His eyes burn into hers. “First with my fingers. Then with my cock.”

His breathing is picking up speed now. But so is hers. 

“Anything else?” she asks, her breath more whisper than spoken word. 

He closes his eyes. “I’ve thought about how you’ll writhe beneath my hands and mouth as I fuck you with my tongue. And… and the glorious sounds you’ll make when I make you come.”

He moans, then. Long, and so loud it rings in her ears. 

Or maybe she’s the one who’s moaning.

Either way, he seems to take whatever expression he sees on her face as enthusiastic consent. He wastes no more time, blowing out a quick breath and then scooping her up into his arms like she weighs nothing at all. She’s reminded of that strange moment, weeks ago, when out of nowhere Ben picked her up and carried her over the threshold of this apartment to fool any neighbors who might be watching into thinking they were actually married. She’d enjoyed that moment far more than she should have—how good his strong arms had felt, supporting her weight, cradling her close; the way he’d smelled, like musk and soap and Ben, when she gave into temptation and buried her face in his neck.

Then again, maybe she  _ hadn’t _ enjoyed that moment too much. Now that she sees the burning, earnest look in his eyes as he hurries her down the hallway towards his bedroom, Rey can’t help but wonder if perhaps she hadn’t appreciated that moment  _ enough _ .

When they get to his bedroom Ben tosses her onto the bed with so much enthusiasm she nearly bounces off the mattress.

“Oh, shit,” he mumbles, looking sheepish. “Um. Sorry.”

She shakes her head. “It’s fine. Come here,” she instructs. 

She doesn’t need to tell him twice. A moment later Ben is standing at the foot of the bed and grabbing her ankles. He tugs her roughly down the bed, not stopping until her ass is balanced precariously at the edge of it, her legs dangling off the side. 

“Ben,” she says, confused. “What… what are you—”

“I’m going to show you exactly what I’ve been dreaming about doing to you since you moved in with me.”

She sits up a little, propping herself up on her elbows. He puts his hands at the waistband of her jeans and then stops, hesitating.

He looks up, his dark eyes asking silent permission. 

She nods. 

He grins down at her. Then she watches as he hastily peels her jeans, her underwear, down her legs, before tossing them into a corner of the room. 

Ben pauses for a long moment—long enough that Rey starts to feel a little self-conscious. She’s half-naked now, totally bare from the waist down, and it isn’t as if she’d  _ planned _ on any of this happening tonight. It’s been at least a month since a razor has been anywhere near any part of her body. Maybe he’s staring at her because he doesn’t like what he sees.

But then she looks into his eyes, and the indescribable mix of wonder and lust she sees reflected back at her melts all of her self-consciousness away. 

“Fuck,” he groans. “Oh,  _ fuck. _ ” He gets down on his knees, and moves closer to her until his face is mere inches away from the apex of her thighs. 

“Rey,” he rasps. “You are... the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” He leans forward and pauses another long moment, simply breathing her in. She can feel his breath, shaky and warm, against her sensitive skin. She whimpers a little, suddenly desperate for him to move even closer. To feel his mouth on her body. 

And then, all at once, he is pressing wet open-mouthed kisses to the inside of her thigh with an eagerness that breaks her heart.

“Oh,” she breathes, body thrumming with anticipation, as he starts to move, working his way up her leg with an aching slowness that sends her reeling. She needs for him to move  _ faster _ , to  _ get on _ with it. But despite the filthy things he said to her earlier—despite the fact that he all but pounced on her the moment they got inside the apartment—now that they are on the cusp of actually doing something about it he takes his time with her, kissing higher and higher up along her inner thigh, pressing his lips to her sensitive flesh as her fingers weave their way into his hair.

“Ben,” she moans, when at last his nose is nuzzling at her pubic hair. He turns his head a little and kisses her labia, humming his contentment. She feels his breathy sighs all the way down to her toes, and it is too much—and not nearly enough—all at once. He kisses one side of her opening and then the other, savoring her, moving incrementally closer to the swollen bundle of nerves where she so desperately wants him to be.

When he gingerly touches her opening with the pad of his thumb she  _ keens _ her impatience, tightening her grip on his hair as the coil of desire at the base of her spine winds tighter. 

He must get the hint, finally. He pulls back a little, and—grinning wolfishly down at her—pushes her thighs apart with his massive hands. He holds her down, pinning her legs to the mattress—splaying her open, completely exposed, before him.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, full of awe.

And then he leans forward again, and his tongue darts out, licking a hot wet stripe from her opening all the way up to her clit. He circles her clit with the tip of his tongue, alternating between lazy circles and fast tight licks that make her back arch off the mattress and her brain short out. She whines, and tries to move, to thrust up against his face, desperate for more friction. 

But his hands are strong, and just as massive as the rest of him. The more she tries to move her hips against him the firmer his grip on her thighs becomes. 

He wants her pinned in place, open before him, a feast to be savored and devoured.

The idea of him giving her pleasure at a pace  _ he _ sets, not her, frustrates and arouses her nearly to the breaking point.

“So wet for me,” he murmurs reverently against her cunt. She cries out, only vaguely aware of what he’s saying, because right now all she can think about is how desperately she wants him to fuck her.

“Ben,” she gasps. “Ben,  _ please _ .”

He slowly, deliberately, inserts a single thick finger inside her cunt. Her eyes fly open at the irresistible sensation of fullness. He curls it inside her, strokes gently along her front walls and—

God, what would it feel like to have two of those massive fingers inside her? Or three?

What would it feel like to have his  _ cock _ inside her, his hips pistoning into her with so much force she no longer knows where she ends and he begins?

As if he can read her thoughts Ben slowly slides a second finger inside her to join the first.

“Ben,” she moans again, as he starts to move. She is already _so full_ of him it feels like there’s no room inside her for anything else. When he finally fucks her for real he is going to shatter her into a thousand pieces. Her cunt clenches hard around his fingers in anticipation. 

He must have felt that, because he groans. _ _

_ “Fuck _ , Rey.” She is distantly aware that the end of the bed has started shaking a little. She cracks open an eye and sees that the hand that is not fucking her is hastily undoing his belt buckle, button, zipper. 

He’s going to jerk himself off while he does this, she realizes. 

She whimpers, wanting,  _ needing _ , to see him take himself in hand and pleasure himself while he gets her off. 

“You... are…  _ so... tight _ ,” he grunts, still. “ _ Fuck _ .”

He pulls his cock out of his boxers, and the very sight of it—at least seven inches long, and bigger around than the circle she can make with her own thumb and forefinger—nearly brings her to orgasm on the spot.

She wants to have that cock inside her. She  _ needs _ to have it inside her.

“I can’t… I can’t believe how fucking amazing you feel on my fingers,” he whines. 

But Rey is past hearing. She is past anything but the way this feels, being stretched by his fingers and ravished by his plush mouth as the filthy sound of his hand slapping at his own flesh fills her ears. Her orgasm is close,  _ so close _ , and she tries to chase it, tries to buck up against the arm he’s suddenly laid across her hips to keep her pinned. But her release is just out of reach, and just when she thinks she’s there, he pulls back just enough to keep her teetering on the edge, dangling from the ends of his fingers.

And then,  _ at last,  _ he sucks her clit into his mouth and laves at it with the achingly soft flat of his tongue. 

“I wish you were mine,” he murmurs, his words hot and wet against her cunt. “I... want you to be mine.”

The words of endearment shoot all the way down her spine—and her orgasm crashes over her like a tidal wave, sudden and sharp and devastating. Her back arches off the bed for soundless seconds as time freezes, stops. All that exists in the world are his mouth, his fingers, and the waves of pleasure blotting everything out and pulling her under. Distantly, she hears Ben cry out, his face buried deep in her cunt as she falls apart, the reverberations of his sounds of pleasure wringing aftershock upon aftershock from her body.

He slowly climbs onto the bed beside her a minute or an hour later, the mattress dipping down beside her as he settles. He gathers her to him, her body boneless, her mind adrift in afterglow. 

“I... love you, Rey,” he breathes into her hair. “I always have.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chag Sameach to those of you who celebrate Passover!
> 
> We are definitely in the home stretch now. Thank you so much for sticking with this story. <3

Rey wakes up in the middle of the night needing to use the bathroom. 

She rolls over in bed, intending to pull back the sheets and stumble bleary-eyed to the little bathroom down the hall. But she freezes in place when she realizes the pillow beneath her head is too soft and too wide to be hers. 

These soft sheets aren’t the crisp white cotton ones on her bed, either.

She sits bolt upright, heart in her throat, uncomfortably reminded of the disorientation and fear that were her usual companions when she woke in strange beds during her childhood. There’d been more foster homes than she could count on two hands by the time she was sixteen, with so many new-to-her beds that even all these years later she struggles to keep them all straight.

Beside her, Ben lies softly snoring, the bedsheets pushed down to his waist, exposing his broad, bare chest. 

The sight of him, deep in sleep, pulls Rey back to her present reality like magic. Her past slowly falls away, retreating to the distant dusty corners of her memory where it belongs.

She watches him for a moment--watches the even rise and fall of his chest as he breathes and dreams beside her--and smiles to herself, thinking back on what he’d said just before climbing into bed beside her.

He loves her. 

Her heart flutters brilliantly in her chest as she thinks back on that moment--the way his eyes had gleamed with the earnestness of his feelings; how he’d rolled her onto her back and kissed her senseless, after. 

She hadn’t said it back to him. It hadn’t seemed strange at the time; after all, she’s never told anyone that she loves them. And his confession had caught her completely by surprise.

But as she wakes up a little more, and as she makes her way into the master bathroom, she begins to wonder if he had expected her to say it too. 

More importantly, if she  _ had _ said it back to him… would it have been the truth?

She bites her lip, realizing that she doesn’t know. 

She  _ does _ know that she liked what they did tonight. She loved it, even. And she knows she wants this--whatever  _ this _ is, between them--to be real.

She hopes that for now it’ll be enough.

* * *

After Rey washes up in the bathroom, she pulls her phone from her purse so she can put it on silent for the rest of the night. There hadn’t been a round two after Ben went down on her--they’d opted to cuddle and talk instead--but the hungry, reverant  _ look  _ he gave her after he tucked himself back into his pants told her that even if he’s sleeping now, he certainly is not diametrically opposed to a round two if they both happen to wake up at the same time.

Better not risk a call or a text disturbing them.

After silencing her phone, Rey opens her email just to make sure there’s nothing pressing that’s shown up since she left work this afternoon. There’s something from Ackbar about the annual ILSA fundraiser that appears to have gone out to everybody. She deletes it, figuring she can get the details from Finn on Monday if necessary.

Below it is an email from the City of Chicago, sent at four-forty-five this afternoon, with a subject line that nearly makes Rey drop her phone. 

_ —————————————— _

_ From: Mon K. Mothma [mmothma@cityofchicago.gov] _

_ To: Rey J. Solo [ _ [ _ rey.niima@google.com _ ](mailto:rey.niima@google.com) _ ]  _

_ re: Staff Attorney position _

_ —————————————— _

_ Dear Ms. Solo, _

_ I am reaching out to gauge your continued interest in a Staff Attorney position with the City of Chicago. We have had several unexpected departures in our office since we last corresponded. As such we need to make more additional hires than we’d originally anticipated. _

_ If you would like to remain in consideration for one of the entry level Staff Attorney positions in our office please reply to this email as soon as possible _ — _ or in any case by April 20 at the latest. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Mon K. Mothma, Director _

_ City of Chicago _

_ Legal Department _

_ —————————————— _

Rey stares at her phone, blinking at the email in disbelief. She had totally written the City of Chicago off as an option. In fact, so much has happened since she got their rejection letter she’d mostly forgotten about having applied in the first place.

Bewildered, stunned, Rey turns around—

—and runs directly into Ben’s broad chest.

“Oh!” she says in surprise. 

“Sorry,” Ben mutters sheepishly, rubbing his chin.

Rey takes a small step back and notices, for the first time, that Ben didn’t bother to put his shirt back on after getting out of bed. She is standing at eye level with his glorious pectoral muscles, her lips barely an inch away from them. 

She takes a brief moment to enjoy the view before giving in to temptation and pressing her lips to a spot just to the side of his left nipple. He whimpers a little at the contact, sending a thrill of anticipation shooting right down her spine.

She sets her phone down on the counter so her hands are free.

“What were you reading?” Ben’s voice is still thick with sleep and even deeper than usual, which shouldn’t even be a thing that is possible. His hand slides up her back and gently grasps the back of her head. He tucks her closer into his body, encouraging her to keep doing exactly what she’s going to him.

Rey smiles to herself, thinking of all the different ways she’s going to make him fall apart tonight.

“An email from the City of Chicago,” she murmurs against his chest. She wants to taste him, wants to know if he tastes as delicious as he smells. Her tongue darts out of her mouth, licking a hot little stripe around his nipple. She circles it slowly, deliberately, and the hand at the back of her head tightens.

She can hear him swallow. 

“Oh?” A shaky exhalation of breath.

“Mmm.” She sucks his nipple into her mouth and revels in the salty tang of him, in the way his thick fingers tighten in her hair.

And then, all at once, Ben freezes, goes rigid beneath her hands. His hand drops from where it had clung to the back of her head and falls to his side.

There’s an unsubtle, unmistakable shift in the air between them that Rey could not miss if she tried.

Something... has changed. 

Something is wrong.

Alarmed, Rey pulls back. “What is it?”

Ben isn’t looking at her anymore. He’s staring down at her phone, still resting where she put it on the bathroom counter.

The screen is still illuminated from a moment ago when she’d read the email from the City of Chicago..

“You... applied for a new job?” Ben’s voice is quiet—quieter than Rey has ever heard it—but the hurt behind his words couldn’t be any louder if he’d shouted them.

Rey’s heart flops uncomfortably in her chest. “Ben…”

“An employer that would sponsor your Visa,” he says flatly. “Right? I didn’t think you actually wanted to leave.” Ben takes a deliberate step back from her. Where a moment ago Rey had seen passion and desire in his eyes, now there is nothing but hurt. “After the interview we had with Ms. Stafford… and after… after what we did tonight—”

“Ben,” Rey says, palms facing out towards. “Ben, listen to me. I applied to this job a few weeks ago, okay? They rejected me.”

He points to her phone. “It looks like they’ve unrejected you.” Ben presses his lips together into a hard, thin line. “Doesn’t it.”

Rey puts her hand out to brace herself against the bathroom sink. The ground, solid beneath her feet just a moment ago, has begun to list and sway, nearly making her lose her balance.

“Ben.” She shakes her head. “They’ve... I mean, all that’s happened is they’ve invited me in for an interview.”

“Are you going to take it?”

Rey hesitates a moment. What she has with Ben has the potential to blossom into something really wonderful. She sees that now.

But do they really have to be married to see it through?

Even if she does love Ben--even if she does want to be with him--taking a different job would give both of them more options in the long run. Wouldn’t it? It would let them have a fresh start. It would let them date, and start to get to know each other the right way--without the added complexity of living together and being married while doing it. 

“I... I mean, I need to think about it,” Rey admits. “Before now I didn’t think working for them was even a possibility. But...” She trails off, tries to gather her thoughts into coherent words that will make sense to him. “But Ben, even if I do interview with them, it doesn’t mean I don’t want to explore a relationship with you.” 

It sounds-- _ feels _ \--like a good compromise. But one look at Ben’s somber face is all Rey needs to know she has said exactly the wrong thing.

He looks away from her, and folds his arms across his chest. His posture is tight, closed off--a far cry from his open stance just moments ago. 

“You want to  _ explore _ a  _ relationship _ with me,” he repeats. Her stomach sinks at the acid tone lacing his words. “Really?”

She swallows. “I… I do.”

Ben sighs at that. He puts his hand gently on top of Rey’s phone and slides it across the counter towards her.

“Okay,” he says, very quietly. “I’ll just… yeah. Okay.”

He gives her a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, before turning to go back into the bedroom.

Rey stands at the bathroom mirror for a long time after that, face buried in her hands, wondering how in the world she is supposed to fix this. 

* * *

She finds him early the next morning at the kitchen table, his back to her as he tries to battle half a grapefruit into submission with a serrated spoon.

He’s wearing a t-shirt, just like he’s done almost every morning since she’s lived with him. Of course, last night he chose to fall asleep without one. And she knows from the way she found him their first morning as a married couple that left to his own devices, he wouldn’t be wearing a shirt now, either.

It’s the clearest signal he could possibly give her that whatever ground they made up after their interview yesterday afternoon has been lost again.

Rey pulls out the chair next to him and sits down, her stomach sinking. Her heart breaking. Ben doesn’t look up from his breakfast or even acknowledge she’s joined him. 

“Good morning.”

He nods, still focused on cutting delicate triangles into his fruit. “Morning.”

She glances over at a large, cream-colored envelope addressed to  _ Mr. and Mrs. Benjamin C. Solo.  _ The words slant across the paper in a pretty flowing script that looks professionally done. 

She frowns. She doesn’t remember having seen this before.

“What is that?” 

Ben looks up, and sees where Rey is looking. He grunts and goes back to his food.

“It’s the invitation to the reception my parents are throwing us.”

Rey blinks at him. “Oh,” she says. She grabs the envelope, marveling at the heavy crisp feel of the paper in her hands. Rey knows nothing about stationary, but this  _ feels _ expensive. “I forgot they were doing that.”

“Me too,” Ben admits. He scoops up a triangle of grapefruit and pops it into his mouth. Rey grimaces reflexively. How can he stand to eat grapefruit without putting a huge scoop of sugar on it first? She will never understand his food preferences. “Mom and Dad aren’t wild about this marriage--especially not Mom. And they haven’t been fooled by it for one second. I’m honestly surprised they’re going through with it.”

Rey’s eyes go wide. She’s known Leia’s feelings about this whole situation ever since their visit here weeks ago, but this is the first time Ben has ever been frank with her about it. It stings, a little, his doing it now.

But then, she supposes she can understand his sudden interest in honesty.

She clears her throat. “Oh?” she says, trying to look surprised by Ben’s revelation. Like it’s news to her. After all, he doesn’t know she’d overheard most of that horrible conversation he’d had with his parents.

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “My mother sees everything. Always. It’s one of the things I admire about her most. Though it’s infuriating, too.” He pauses, then chuckles. His posture relaxes a little; Rey can feel her heart warm to him in response. “It was hell having a mom like her growing up. I couldn’t get away with anything, ever.”

Ben’s hand is resting on the table next to his bowl, just a few inches away from hers. It would be the easiest thing in the world for her to move her hand a little and twine their fingers together. But would Ben welcome it? Last night he would have. But now? After he discovered that at one point in their marriage she’d been actively planning an out?

He stares pointedly into his coffee cup, not at her. Somehow, it feels deliberate. She decides to leave her hands where they are. 

“My mother’s been looking forward to me having someone in my life for a long time now,” he continues. “She’s never said it, not in so many words, but…” He glances at Rey out of the corner of his eye before looking away again. “But I’ve always been able to tell what she wants. She’s always been as subtle as a blowtorch.”

Rey looks at the engraved invitation. Even if Leia never believed this marriage was real she certainly seems to have spared no expense in throwing this party.

“You think that’s why she’s doing this?”

He frowns. “Doing what?”

Rey nods at the invitation. “The reception.”

“Oh.” Ben rubs thoughtfully at his chin. “Yeah, I think that’s part of it.” He hasn’t shaved yet this morning, and there’s a hint of stubble on his chin, over his cheeks, that hadn’t been there yesterday. Rey digs her fingernails into her palms to keep from imagining what that stubble would feel like, rasping against the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs, if they tried what they did last night a second time. 

It doesn’t work as well as she wishes it would. She can feel herself start to blush. 

He pauses, and then adds, “But my mother also loves to put on a show, generally. She’s always working. Always networking. I’m pretty sure she has donors and colleagues in Chicago. And what better way to wine and dine them than invite them to your son’s over-the-top wedding reception?” A hint of bitterness has crept into his voice. For the first time, Rey thinks she can sympathize a little with the frustration and resentment she knows he feels towards his parents--even if she doesn’t have the personal experience to totally understand it.

He looks at her, then, eyes dark and intense. He bites his lip, and then--

\--she decides to throw caution to the wind, and reaches for his hand.

But when she makes contact with him, Ben freezes. His hand goes rigid beneath her palm.

“Rey,” he says, very quiet. He closes his eyes and slides his hand out from beneath hers. “I… we need to talk.”

The look he gives her is like a bucket of icy cold water over her head. 

“I... want you to interview for that job,” he says. And then, as if Rey had a dozen job interviews lined up, he adds, quickly, “The City of Chicago job.”

“Oh,” she says, all the breath leaving her body in a stunned rush. She hadn’t expected him to want her to actually  _ do  _ this. Not after last night. Not after how he’d reacted when he read that email. “I see.”

“I don’t want you to do it,” he clarifies quickly, not meeting her eyes. “I want you to stay here with me. But--” He trails off, and buries his face in his hands. 

Rey stares at him, waiting for him to finish his sentence. When he doesn’t--when all he does is continue to sit there silently--she prompts, “But, what?”

“I... don’t know if I can bear to wait for you to catch up,” he murmurs, so quietly she almost doesn’t hear him. “Living with you, knowing what you look like sprawled out on my bed, what you taste like,” he shakes his head. “Before, I could delude myself into thinking I could live with it. I could kid myself into thinking maybe--just maybe--you felt the same way about me that I did about you. But now…”

Ben trails off again and blows out a long breath. 

Rey’s mouth has gone suddenly bone dry. “Ben,” she says. She licks her lips; her brain feels sluggish, too slow. “I care about you. I do. I just--”

It’s the wrong thing to say and she knows it the second the words are out of her mouth.

“I’ve been in love with you for two years, Rey,” he says. “Meanwhile, you’ve been applying for jobs that will let you get out of our marriage. This… this just isn’t going to work.” 

He pushes back from his chair with so much force the wooden legs scrape loudly against the tile kitchen floor. 

“You can stay with me until you find a job that will sponsor a work Visa,” Ben says with finality. “We’ll go to my parents’ reception. We can pretend to be married as long as it takes. But please--for both of our sakes; or at least, for mine--go on that interview.” He’s pleading with her now, a quiet desperation in his eyes that breaks her heart. “While you’re at it, apply for other jobs, too. Anything. Everything.”

Rey opens her mouth to speak--to say what, she doesn’t know--but he doesn’t wait around for her to make up her mind. He turns his back on her and storms out of the room, his breakfast forgotten. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to yell at me. I probably deserve it...


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that this update finds you healthy, safe, and well. <3

“This is the fanciest party I’ve ever been to.”

Rey glances at Rose, gaping round-eyed at their surroundings with a stunned expression on her face that rather matches how Rey feels.

“Yeah.” Rey takes in the white linen tablecloths and the delicate crystal sculptures that someone—probably Lando, or someone who works for him—placed perfectly in the center of each table. Each centerpiece is unique, Ben told her, during one of the few conversations they had over the past two weeks. When Leia Organa started planning this reception in earnest she’d had them each specially made by an old artist friend in Santa Fe.

“When my mother decides to put on a show there’s no stopping her,” he’d told her, looking just as embarrassed and unhappy about this situation as he’s been since that night she’d stupidly talked over his protests and told his mother they’d be happy to have a wedding reception.

Just one of the many things Rey has to apologize to Ben for. 

As Rey looks around the room and takes in the fancy decor, she can’t help but wonder what kind of reception Leia Organa might have hosted if she’d thought her son’s marriage were  _ real _ —if this is the kind of thing she puts together when she thinks her son isn’t actually in love with his wife.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Rose asks, cutting into Rey’s dark thoughts. “You look like you could use one.”

Rey fidgets with the little gold hoop earring in her right ear. She knows better than to drink  _ too _ much tonight, but right now, a single glass of wine sounds perfect. 

“Yeah,” she says. “Sure.”

“I’ll be right back,” Rose says. “What do you want? I’m guessing they have everything behind that bar.”

Rey looks towards the bar in the back and sees right away that Rose is right. There have to be hundreds of bottles lining the wall.

“Chardonnay, I guess,” Rey says. “I don’t care what kind.”

Rose gives her a small, reassuring smile. “I’ll be right back.”

As Rey watches her friend head towards the bar she feels a shiver of anxious trepidation snake through her. No one is here yet other than her and Rose and some of the people working the event, but Ben and his parents will be here as soon as he picks them up at the airport. And then Han and Leia’s friends, and her important colleagues, will be here too, watching her.

Or, more accurately: watching Ben  _ interacting _ with her. Everyone coming here tonight is expecting to pay their respects to the head-over-heels, can’t-keep-their-hands-off-each-other newlywed couple. At one point not too long ago Rey thought they actually had a chance of being exactly that tonight. Two weeks ago, they might have been able to be exactly what their guests will expect them to be without it even being a performance. 

But now, the idea of having to pretend to be happily married to Ben breaks her heart. She has no idea how she’s going to survive this. And then once this party is over--what then? 

Rey wishes she knew.

Sighing, she pulls her phone from her purse and, as a way to distract herself from how unhappy she is, she pulls up the latest email from the City of Chicago. She rereads it for the hundredth time and feels her racing heart start to slow a little. 

She’d accepted the interview, just like Ben asked her to. She is set to meet with Mon Mothma at their main office in the Loop at ten-thirty next Thursday morning. She’s already asked for the time off work; what she hasn’t done yet is told Ben it’s happening.

But then, there hasn’t been any opportunity for her to tell him. The past two weeks she may as well have lived alone, she’s seen him so infrequently. She has no idea where he’s been all this time. The office, probably. But even during their most strained periods together he was never away quite  _ this _ much.

He’ll be here tonight, though. He has to be. And so tonight, she is going to tell him. About her interview with the City, and about all the other places she’s submitted her resumes since he told her it was time to move on. He’s helped her out so much already, and although it breaks her heart to know that he doesn’t want her living with him anymore, she owes it to him to do the right thing and respect his wishes.

“Here,” Rose says, handing over a crystal wine glass filled with white wine. “They actually have four different Chardonnays, if you can believe that. I just picked one.”

Rey smiles at her friend and takes a large, bracing sip of her drink. The wine goes down warm and smooth, lighting her up a little inside. Maybe she’ll have another one of these before Ben gets here, so that she’s a little fuzzier around the edges for the festivities. 

Maybe she’ll have three more. 

“Thanks.” She takes another sip. It’s really good wine. Once again Rey wonders exactly how much money Han and Leia spent on tonight.

Rose eyes her warily, and takes Rey’s hand. “Hey. Are you alright?”

Rey closes her eyes. Lets her shoulders slump forward. “Not really,” she says, her voice small. “No.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Rey ponders that question a moment. But really, what is there to talk about? What can she say to Rose that might ease this heavy weight inside her chest? What could Rose possibly say in return that might help her?

There isn’t anything that can help at this point. There’s nothing anyone can do or say that can fix this.

“No,” Rey says, shaking her head. “I don’t.”

To her credit, Rose doesn’t pry further. She stands there, holding Rey’s hand, as Rey sips her drink and tries her damnedest not to cry. 

* * *

Most of Leia’s guests are halfway through their first drinks by the time Ben finally shows up with his parents more than an hour later. He looks fantastic in the dark grey suit he’s wearing for the event, but also completely flustered and violently unhappy. His scowl is so severe it looks like it could cut glass, and his normally perfectly-coiffed hair is a riotous mess--the way it always is when he’s been running anxious hands through it. 

Leia Organa, in contrast, looks perfectly relaxed and in her element in her cream-colored sheath dress. She strides into the hall with Ben on one arm and Han on the other with a confident gleam in her eye, and--without exchanging even a single word with her mother-in-law--Rey can see right away that this kind of party is exactly the sort of thing she was made for. 

Han, for his part, only looks amused. He’s dressed in navy bluejeans, and his smile stretches so broadly across his craggy face it gives the impression that everything about this event is one big joke to him.

What an unusual family, Rey thinks. In the few months she’s known Ben her entire concept of what  _ family  _ is and what it can or should be has flipped completely on its head. Now she knows that people in the same family sometimes have nothing in common. Sometimes, they don’t understand each other at all. She is starting to wonder if perhaps Ben’s point from a few weeks ago--that sometimes, it can be harder to have family in your life than to not have them in it at all--was actually valid.

It’s an idea that never would have  _ occurred _ to her six months ago. Just another thing to add to the list of things she owes him an apology for.

It doesn’t take long for Han and Leia to be pulled away from Ben by several older men laughing loudly and dressed in expensive suits. Ben’s relief to be rid of his parents is palpable, even from all the way across the hall. 

He spends a few moments scanning the room--and when he finally spots her, standing alone in a far corner of the hall, nursing her third glass of wine of the evening, he hurries over to her.

“Hey,” he says, a little breathless.

Unexpectedly, he takes her by the elbow. His grip is firm, his large hand warm on her bare arm. She looks down at the spot where he is touching her, and swallows.

If he notices her surprise he shows no sign of it.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he mutters. His voice is a low rumble; his eyes are urgent and pleading. “Their plane was late. And--god. They’re in rare form tonight.”

“They are?” 

“Yeah.” His voice is grave. “I wanted to give you fair warning.”

Rey nods. His hand is still on her arm--and she tries hard to focus on the situation at hand, and about how unhappy Ben looks right now, rather than how good it feels to have him touching her like this after weeks of hardly seeing him at all.

She meets his eyes. “You figured they would be a lot tonight. Right?” 

He nods. “I did. But…” He trails off and shakes his head, seemingly at a loss for what to say next. 

“But what?” 

He opens his mouth to say more, but before he can manage it his mother suddenly materializes out of nowhere at Rey’s side. 

“Rey.” Leia gives Rey a long, appraising look that makes Rey’s stomach lurch and her knees go wobbly with renewed nerves. But unlike the last time they saw each other, tonight Ben’s mother is all smiles for her. She really  _ must  _ be happy she gets to throw this big expensive party for her son and show them off. “It’s so good to see you again, dear.” 

She leans forward and presses a heavily-lipsticked kiss to Rey’s cheek. Rey has just enough good manners not to reach up and rub it off with the palm of her hand; but the instinct to do it is strong. She tightens her hands into fists at her side to resist the temptation.

“It’s good to see you too,” Rey says. She downs the rest of her wine in a big gulp, then looks around for a wandering server to give the glass to. “This is a wonderful party, Ms. Organa.”

That part is actually true. The appetisers that have floated by her on trays the past hour have all been absolutely delicious. The string ensemble in the far corner of the room is playing something wispy and beautiful--and even though Rey cannot begin to recognize the music it makes her feel warm and fuzzy inside for reasons having nothing to do with the wine.

“Thank you,” Leia says, happily. She shoots Ben a pointed look. “Now, if you will excuse us, Ben, I’d like to have a little girl talk with Rey.” 

Rey’s breath catches. What could Ben’s mother possibly want to discuss with her in private?

Ben, for his part, looks just as surprised as she is. “Oh,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I mean… yeah. Sure.” He looks meaningfully Rey. “If it’s okay with you, Rey.”

It doesn’t feel like Rey has any choice but to agree to this. “It’s fine,” she says. “Could you tell everyone where I’ve gone?” By  _ everyone _ she means Rose, Finn, and Poe of course. They’ve set up shop at the table nearest the bar and have been taking advantage of the open bar since arriving. She’s hardly spoken to anybody else all evening; she can’t imagine anyone but her friends will even notice she’s left the room.

“We’ll be right back,” Rey says to Ben--hoping fervently that that’s true. “Right, Ms. Organa?”

“Leia,” she corrects her. “Call me Leia. Everyone does.”

“Leia,” Rey repeats. 

Leia smiles at her, and then turns to glare pointedly at her son.

“Find me after,” he says to Rey, before striding away.

Rey doesn’t have much time to wonder what Leia wants to talk with her about before she answers that question for her.

“Ben’s a mess,” she says bluntly. She takes a sip of her Merlot before setting the glass down on the floor by her feet. “Granted, he’s always been a mess. Even when he was a young child he would throw tantrums over the most pointless things. But right now he’s a mess even by his own standards.” She shakes her head. “Which is saying a lot.” 

Rey doesn’t know what to say to this. She wishes she hadn’t been so hasty to drink her last glass of wine--not because she needs more alcohol, but rather because she’d be grateful right now for something to do with her hands.

“Is he?” she asks, fidgeting with her hoop earrings. Trying to keep her tone neutral. 

Leia Organa shoots her a sideways glance. “He is,” she confirms. “But you know that already.”

Rey wonders if there’s any use denying it. But one look at Leia’s determined expression tells her if Rey even tried to lie to her about this she’d see through it in an instant.

“Something’s changed between you,” she continues. “I don’t know when it happened--god knows I don’t keep in touch with Ben as well as I should. All I know is that all the awkwardness and hesitation I sensed between the two of you when Han and I dropped in on you unannounced a few months ago--it’s gone now.” She turns her body so that she’s looking Rey right in the eye. “Your face lit up like a Christmas tree when you saw him walk in the door just now. You were practically glowing the moment he touched your arm. As for my idiot son…” 

Leia trails off, and laughs a little under her breath.

Rey waits for Leia to continue. When she doesn’t--when all she does is give Rey a wise knowing look, she asks, “What is it?”

“He loves you, Rey.” Leia shakes her head. “I thought he was a damn fool when he agreed to marry you. But I can see, now, that his reasons for doing so had nothing at all to do with a green card.” 

Leia’s words go through Rey like lightning. She closes her eyes, and puts a hand on the wall behind her to try and steady herself. 

Rey licks her lips and ponders her next words carefully.

“I know he loves me,” she eventually says. Her voice comes out too breathy. Too quiet.  _ Weak _ , Rey thinks. “And… and I love him, too.”

It’s more than she’s prepared to say to Ben directly, and she isn’t certain  _ exactly _ how true it is. Right now, though, it  _ feels  _ true. At a minimum--it feels like the right thing to say to the mother of the man she married, at the fancy wedding reception she’s throwing to celebrate their marriage.

“He says you’re looking for a new job, though,” Leia remarks. “One that will sponsor a Visa.”

She says it so matter-of-factly, as though telling her what the weather is forecast to be tomorrow. Rey looks away, cheeks growing hot under her mother-in-law’s watchful gaze.

“I am,” she says. She sniffles a little. “He--we--agreed it was probably for the best.”

“Rey,” Leia says, drawing out the single syllable of her name. “Ben may not realize it, but I love him. I want what’s best for him. Even when he doesn’t know what’s best for him, himself.” 

Rey’s mind drifts back to the snatches of conversation she overheard between Ben and his parents all those weeks ago. She swallows, and asks, “And what do you think is best for him?” She braces herself, half expecting Leia to tell her that what would be best for Ben is if she walked out the door of this party and never looked back.

Instead--and to her great surprise--Leia leans closer and clasps Rey’s hand in hers.

“One of these days that boy needs to learn that the things you want in life don’t have to be all or nothing.” She squeezes Rey’s hand; Rey marvels at the strength in the older woman’s grip. 

“What do you mean?” Rey asks, confused.

But Leia only smiles at her again and shakes her head. “I think you know.”

Rey is about to tell her that no, she really  _ doesn’t _ know, when Han sidles up to them. Here, up close, in the dim lighting of Lando Calrissian’s hall, Rey can see hints of Ben in the older man’s features. In the length of his nose. In the slightly exaggerated swagger of his stride. 

“Lando’s making noise about the dancing starting up,” he tells Leia. He glances over at Rey and his posture suddenly straightens--as though only just now noticing she was there. He stands a little taller and gives her a small smile. “Hey, kid.”

Rey nods at him. “Hello.”

“The photographer Leia hired for this thing wants to take pictures of you and Ben dancing together,” he tells her. He turns back to Leia and, in a much lower tone of voice, asks, “Was a photographer really necessary? Neither of them want this…”

“Yes,” Leia says flatly. “Ben deprived me of getting to watch my only son get married. He won’t deprive me of wedding pictures, too.” She turns to Rey. “Are you ready, dear?”

Rey looks between Leia’s hopeful, smiling face and Han’s sheepish one. “Sure,” she says. Though in truth, after the blunt conversation she had with Leia she feels anything but ready to put on a show with Ben for Leia’s friends and colleagues. 

But there’s nothing to be done for it, is there? 

A moment later Leia is holding onto her arm for support as they make their way back into the center of things, and Han is shaking hands and laughing with an older African-American gentleman who must be Lando. All at once there are dozens of pairs of eyes fixed right on her, strangers that are delighted to see her and delighted to  _ finally  _ meet her. People in fancy dresses with expensive jewelry who are just so happy for Ben and her and their new life together.

Ben is waiting for her on the dance floor, looking at least as unhappy as she feels. She isn’t certain what he’s been doing in the ten minutes since she’s been talking with his mother but from the wine glass in his hands she thinks she can guess. He has never been able to lie convincingly, it occurs to her. Everything he is thinking and feeling is always broadcast all over his expressive face.

He extends his hand to her with a resigned look that says,  _ might as well get it over with _ as loudly as if he’d said the words out loud.

She takes his hand--

And then, without warning, her eyes begin filing with tears.

She can’t do this with Ben, on display in front of all these people. 

“I… I can’t do this,” she murmurs--quietly, so that only Ben will hear her. 

Ben frowns, looking concerned. He moves a little closer. “What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing. It’s nothing. I just--”

“What did my mother say to you?”

Rey closes her eyes, and takes a deep. 

“Can we just... go outside? For a few minutes?” She knows they need to talk, and soon--though in truth she doesn’t know exactly what she’s going to say to him. But that can wait. What  _ can’t _ wait is her getting out of this room and away from their guests for a little while for a short break before they have to come back here and put on a show.

Ben shoots a furtive look over his shoulder at the photographer, who’s presently deep in conversation with Leia about something Rey cannot hear.

“Let’s go out into the lobby,” he says in a conspiratorial whisper. “We’ll come back in a few minutes.” Ben pauses, then tilts his head to the side as though considering something. “Actually… do you want to just get out of here altogether?”

His question is so abrupt, so sudden that Rey immediately forgets about her nerves and her tears.

“What?”

“I asked you if you wanted to get out of here.”

She stares at him, trying to parse meaning from the intensity of his gaze. But his dark eyes—so easy to read most of the time—give nothing away.

She bites her lip, considering her next words very carefully. Her heart is racing, and her mind is spiraling out in all directions with possibilities—but she won’t think of those right now.

She settles on a basic logistical question. It feels the safest option.

“Why do you want to leave your parents’ party?”

He snorts. “There are a million reasons why I want to leave this party.”

She pauses, waiting for him to elaborate.

“Such as?”

He shrugs. “The obvious reasons, of course. This party sucks, as you’ve undoubtedly realized. The whole thing is for my mom, anyway, not us. But more than that--Rey, the last time we spent more than five minutes together in the same room I was a complete asshole. I owe you an apology. A big one. A real one. And I can’t apologize properly to you here.”

If Rey hadn’t already been reeling before she certainly would be now. She hesitates a moment… and then tentatively rests her hand on Ben’s shoulder. She worries at first that he’s going to shrug it off. But he doesn’t. His eyes are still fixed firmly on hers, dark and unwavering.

She swallows. “Actually, I feel like  _ I’m  _ the one who needs to apologize for, like… a million things.”

“All the more reason for us to get the fuck out of here, right now, and just… go somewhere else.” He pauses, and covers the hand resting on his shoulder with one of his own.  _ So warm.  _ “Also, I have to tell you--you look  _ incredible _ in that dress tonight.” He gives her a small smile. “Another reason for us to leave.”

Rey’s cheeks, the hand on his shoulder, grow hot under the continued intensity of his gaze. “That’s... not a reason to leave.”

“Sure it is.” He leans in closer to her and murmurs, very closely, in her ear. “I promise we don’t have to do anything more than talk if you don’t want to. But, Rey…” He pulls back, sighing. “Please. Let’s just... go.”

She has to admit the offer is tempting. She can easily duck over to her friends’ table and let them know she’s leaving so they won’t worry. But before she agrees to skip out on this very expensive party she has one more thing she has to know.

“What is it that you want, Ben?” She could be asking him if he intends to fuck her tonight. But she isn’t asking him that, and she can tell by the slightly abashed look on his face that he knows she isn’t. The past two weeks--the past few  _ months-- _ have been almost unending emotional whiplash with him. The constant push and pull between them as they’ve both worked through their feelings about each other has wreaked havoc on her mind and her heart. 

If he wants to have a one night thing with her before going their separate ways, she deserves to know that. But what she’s really asking is what he’s going to want with her, after?

She deserves to know that, too.

“You,” Ben says, after what feels like several minutes of silence. He takes her hands in both of his and presses a fervent kiss to the back of each one. “I just want you.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the last update I have been gifted an absolutely gorgeous piece of art for Chapter 13 of this fic by [AlhenaCrimson](https://twitter.com/AlhenaCrimson/status/1252330725652692993?s=20) showing Ben and Rey running away from their own wedding reception, and gorgeous moodboards from [tlacat06](https://twitter.com/tlcat06/status/1251597847797137423) and [batsy](https://twitter.com/bvstila/status/1255589668688625664?s=20) <3 <3. Thank you so much for sharing your generosity and your talent with me!
> 
> And thank you to everyone for bearing with my increasingly erratic updating schedule (due mostly to 2020 being entirely too much). One more chapter to go!

Rey turns a little in her seat so that she can see out of the large, floor-to-ceiling windows looking over the lake. She gazes down at Chicago, spread out below them in neat, even rows of lights. 

Seeing the city lit up at night from this height still does something to Rey. Her childhood was spent mostly in squat two-story buildings and single-story apartment complexes; being up this high can still make her feel small and insignificant in the middle of this huge, vibrant city. 

Rey shivers a little, pulling her coat more snugly around her shoulders, even though the temperature here is perfectly comfortable.

Ben leans in a little closer until his lips are right at her ear.

“What do you think of this place?”

Rey turns to find Ben looking at her with an intensity of expression that nearly takes her breath away. 

Her eyes drop to her upper thigh—where Ben’s hand has been resting for the past ten minutes. 

“We didn’t have to go somewhere quite this expensive,” she chides, keeping her voice low. The restaurant is very crowded, full of fancy people in fancy clothes—but it’s so quiet in here you could hear a pin drop from three tables over. 

Ben shrugs. “I wanted to bring you here. We’re all dressed up.” 

“Well… true.”

“Yes,” Ben agrees. “It seemed like it would be a waste to go to McDonald’s dressed like this.”

Rey is about to point out that there are at least two thousand restaurants in this city that are neither this place nor McDonald’s when Ben’s phone buzzes with yet another text, cutting her off. 

Ben sighs and closes his eyes.

“Again?” 

Rey shakes her head. “You need to text her back.”

“Do I?”

“At the very least you need to  _ read _ your mother’s texts,” Rey says, reasonably.

Ben chews on his bottom lip a moment, considering. 

“Could you read them for me?” he asks. And then, a moment later, adds: “Please?”

“Ben.”

“I’m sure she wants to kill me,” he says. “And maybe she has a right to feel that way. I just... I just don’t have the energy for it right now.” 

Rey hesitates as another pang of guilt washes over her. Ben hadn’t wanted the reception in the first place. It’s possible Leia wouldn’t have taken no for an answer; but either way, when Ben objected to the idea months ago, Rey ignored him and agreed to it. 

At least some part of all this is her fault.

“Okay. I’ll do it.” She holds out her hand. “Give me your phone.”

Ben places his large black Samsung in her palm. “You’re the best, Rey,” he says.

“I know,” she says, trying for casual, trying to play off the compliment like it didn’t just make her heart skip a beat. She’s about to open his text message history with his mother but before she does she adds, “I’m... sorry I agreed to this party in the first place.” 

Ben looks at her. “I’m sorry too,” he says. “Not about the party, but...” He trails off, looking suddenly very remorseful. “I’m just sorry. For so many things.”

There’s more they need to say to each other. So much more. But first, they need to deal with his mother. Rey looks down at his phone again and her stomach sinks when she sees just how many texts from Leia he’s missed.

“Your mother’s sent you eight texts.”

“ _ Eight _ ?”

“Yeah.” Rey scrolls through them, then asks, “Do you want me to read them to you? Or should I paraphrase?”

“Paraphrase,” Ben says, running a large hand through his hair. “Please.”

Rey scrolls back up to the top of the texts and starts reading through them.

* * *

**Ben, where did you and Rey go? Honey, the photographer is waiting. Love, Mom.**

* * *

**Ben, honey, it’s been 30 minutes since anyone has seen you. No one can find you anywhere. I am worried. Where did you go? Love, Mom.**

* * *

**I am going to murder Lando. He just told me he saw you and Rey leave in your car an hour ago. He said he didn’t want to say anything to me or your father because he thought it was funny. I told your father what had happened and he just laughed. I am going to murder him too. Love, Mom.**

* * *

**Sweetheart, your father and I are back at the hotel and now I am VERY worried. Please just text me and let us know you’re alright. Love, Mom.**

* * *

Rey looks up from Ben’s phone and takes in his nervous expression. 

“Well?” he asks.

“She knows we snuck out.”

Ben snorts. “I figured as much. We left two hours ago.”

“Yeah. Well, she’s worried.” Rey bites her lip. “She’s mad at you too, I think. And at Lando, and your father. But more than anything I think she just wants to hear from you so she knows we’re okay.”

Ben sighs, and reaches for his phone. While taking it back from her their hands brush, very briefly, making Rey shiver again. She’d feel a little ridiculous about that if Ben didn’t seem affected by it, too. The tips of his ears go a little pink—the way they always do when he’s embarrassed, or overcome with emotion—and his lips quirk up at the corners in a small, private smile.

But that smile slips a moment later as he reads through what his mother sent him. 

“Hm,” he says. “How about this for a reply? ‘ _ Sorry we worried you. We wanted to leave for a little while to talk but lost track of time. The party was lovely. We’ll make it up to you soon _ .’”

Rey raises an eyebrow. “How do we make  _ this _ up to her? We ditched her wedding reception.”

“Honestly? If we send her pictures of us dancing I think it’ll go a long way.”

Rey sits up straighter at that. “Really?”

Ben nods. “When she said getting pictures of her son dancing was one of her main motivations for throwing this party she was serious.” He looks back down at his phone. “I didn’t even go to prom, Rey. She doesn’t even have a picture of me from  _ that. _ ”

Somehow, Rey doesn’t doubt that for a second. But she says nothing, watching silently as Ben texts his mother, his massive fingers moving nimbly across his phone’s screen. The phone is huge compared to hers. In his hands, though, it seems small.

Just like her own hand looks positively tiny compared to his.

“There,” Ben says. “Sent.” He sets the phone back down on the table beside his wine glass. “That should put her mind at ease.” 

“I hope so.”

Ben nods, then gives her this  _ look _ that tells Rey in no uncertain terms that he doesn’t want to talk about his mother anymore. His hand tightens a little on her thigh, squeezing gently. Her arms erupt in gooseflesh.

Rey has to turn away, has to force herself to look out at the lake and Chicago again to work up the nerve to raise the subject they’ve been putting off all night.

“Ben?”

“Hm?”

“After dinner… what happens next?” 

They ostensibly left the party, and came here, to talk. Hopefully, by talking, they will be able to resolve everything that remains unresolved between them.

But after dinner and the talking are over… what then? 

What does Ben want to happen tonight? And after tonight? 

For that matter—what does  _ she _ want?

When Ben doesn’t answer her question, but simply continues to look at her with an expression Rey cannot begin to interpret, she follows up with the first stupid thing that pops into her head. 

“I mean—are we going dancing after this?”

Whatever Ben had expected her to say it wasn’t that. He blinks at her in surprise. 

“I’m sorry. What?”

“You know,” Rey says. Her voice has started shaking. From nerves, or fatigue—she doesn’t know which. It’s been a very long day. Long several months, really. “You sort of suggested it earlier. Dancing. So we can take selfies to send your mother.”

“Oh.” Ben chuckles. He slides his hand up her thigh. Just an inch or two higher—nothing  _ too _ scandalous; nothing that would shock any of the other people here if they turned around and looked at them—but his hand is unmistakably a little higher than it was before; and when he gives her leg a meaningful squeeze Rey has to shut her eyes against the suggestion it contains and the spike of excitement it sends through her.

His hand is so warm. Warm, warm. 

But then, everything about Ben Solo has always been warm _ .  _

“We  _ could  _ go dancing,” he says eventually. “If you want. But I was... sort of hoping we’d go back to the apartment.”

Rey’s breath catches at his unspoken implication. She averts her eyes, feeling a sudden rush of heat. “Oh?”

He nods. “Yeah. But earlier, when I said we don’t have to do anything…” He gives her leg another squeeze. “I meant it.” 

His eyes, his tone—his warm hand on her thigh—everything about him is so earnest right now.

But that’s part of the problem.

“What exactly is it that you want, Ben?” 

He blinks at her. “I just told you.”

“No.” She shakes her head, frustration mounting. “Not just tonight. I mean generally. One day you tell me to get a different job and move out as soon as possible. And now, you tell me you want to take me back home so we can...” She trails off, heat creeping up the back of her neck. She covers the hand on her leg with one of her own and looks into his eyes, wordlessly asking him to understand. “I’m trying, Ben. I really am. But I’m… I’m confused.”

“Confused?”

She nods. 

“About what?”

“About everything. About me. Us.” A beat. “You—and the hot-and-cold way you’ve been acting around me basically since this whole thing started.”

Ben sighs, hanging his head. From this angle Rey can see the top of his head; her eyes are drawn to a few errant strands of silver hair scattered amongst the dark brown that she’s never seen before. Surprising her.

He’s only twenty-eight years old. Rey wonders, for the first time, whether he’ll go gray early. With how much stress he’s under all the time he very well might.

Before she can stop herself from doing it Rey wonders what they will be to one another when his white hair starts outnumbering all the rest—and whether that’s going to happen in five years or in twenty. 

“You want to know what I want?” Ben asks.

“Yeah.” Rey nods. “I do.”

“What I  _ want _ , Rey, is for us to finish our dinners as quickly as possible. Then I want to get you back home, tear you out of that gorgeous dress, and convince you to join me in bed.” He says the words so quietly Rey has to strain to hear them. But underneath them is a quiet intensity that burns right through her. His eyes meet hers, the light from the candle in the center of the table reflected in the dark brown of his irises. 

“Ben,” Rey breathes. She shakes her head. “I... I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. You don’t have to  _ do _ anything.” He pauses. “After the way I’ve behaved towards you I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to have anything to do with me again.”

Rey wracks her brain for something—anything—to say in response to all this. But words fail her. She squeezes his hand on her thigh as her mind reels with the enormity of what he’s telling her. Ben quickly twines their fingers together, his large hand dwarfing hers as it always does.

Everything about Ben Solo—his hand; his heart—is just so enveloping and big.

And overwhelming.

“I’m sorry for so many things, Rey,” he continues. “I’m sorry for my fucking parents. And for... how I acted the other day, when all you did was tell me you were  _ considering _ pursuing another job.” He pauses. “More than anything, though, I’m sorry for not being honest with you about how I felt when I suggested we get married.” He swallows. “It was the biggest lie of omission I have ever told.” 

At his words, Rey’s heart stutters in her chest. 

_ Not honest with you about how I felt. _

“It was a mistake not telling you, right from the very beginning, that I’ve been in love with you since just about the moment I met you.” Ben shakes his head, and looks into her eyes. His eyes are dark, deep, and fathomless. “You have always been so idealistic and brilliant. And, god—so beautiful. I was an idiot to think I was ever going to be able to be platonic roommates with you. And I... should have told you all of this when I asked you to marry me.”

Rey pauses a moment, considering her next words carefully. 

“Did it never occur to you to just…” She trails off, worried her next words might hurt his feelings. She doesn’t want to hurt him—not now, not when they’re finally being honest with each other. “Did you never think to just… ask me out at some point?”

Ben frowns at her. “Ask you out?”

“Right. Like... on a date.” She gives him a small smile. “When someone likes you, normally they start there. Before proposing marriage.”

Ben winces a little. “That… probably would have been a good idea.”

“Yeah.”

Ben sighs, and runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve been told I can be a little…”

“Ridiculous?”

He snorts. “I was going to say  _ extra _ . But ridiculous works too.” He looks down at his hands. “I guess I was always afraid you would just… say no, if I asked you out.” 

“So marriage seemed the safer choice.”

He gives an awkward, one-shoulder shrug. “Something like that.”

They sit together in silence after that for what feels like a long time. Rey can feel his eyes on her, knows it’s her turn to say something now—but between the feel of his warm, strong hand on her leg, and the raw honesty he has been showing her through this entire conversation...

“I... have an interview with the city on Tuesday,” she says, very quietly. Because she needs to be honest with him, too. Ben’s body stiffens across the table. 

“I see,” he murmurs.

“You said I should set one up,” she reminds him. She feels, suddenly, like she needs to defend herself, even though he’s the one who forced her hand. 

“I know,” he says. “I did.”

“They were glad to hear from me.”

“They should be.” Ben sits up a little straighter and squeezes her hand. “They’d be  _ lucky _ to have you. Anyone would.”

He says the words with such conviction that tears start to well up again before she can stop them. She thought she’d finished crying when they left the reception. Apparently she was wrong. She rubs at her eyes with the back of her hand before remembering—too late—that she’s wearing eyeliner and mascara tonight. 

She pulls her hand away from her face and grimaces at the horrible black smudges the makeup left behind.

She glances up at Ben—who looks like he’s trying hard to bite back a laugh.

“Do I look like a raccoon?”

The irreverent question cuts through the tension like a knife. Ben looks at her appraisingly, then sits back and starts stroking his chin, pretending to give her question serious thought.

“No,” he says, solemnly. He shakes his head for good measure. But his lips are twitching with barely-suppressed amusement.

“Yes I do.”

“Never.”

Rey rolls her eyes—but she’s smiling now, too. “There has to be a mirror here somewhere,” she murmurs, looking around. “Maybe if I went to the ladies room I could just—“

“Come here,” Ben says. “It’s not that bad, I swear. I’ll wipe it off for you.” 

Obediently, Rey leans in closer. “Like this?”

“Yeah.” Ben awkwardly dunks first his thumb, and then the tip of his index finger, into his water glass. Water sloshes everywhere—onto his pants; the fancy linen tablecloth. 

Rey has to stifle a laugh. “Seriously? That’s just going to make it worse.”

“Just… just hold still, okay?” Her face really is very close to his right now. He seems to realize this at the same moment she does, because soon his eyes drop from her eyelids down to her mouth—which is decidedly  _ not _ smeared with black eye makeup.

He licks his lips—involuntarily, probably. She’s still leaning across the table towards him, waiting, but he makes no move to clean the makeup off her eyes.

Rey’s heart is hammering in her chest like she’s just run a mile.

“Ben?”

“Mm.”

“What are you thinking right now?”

“What am I thinking?” Ben tilts his head a little until they are all but breathing the same air. If Rey were a braver person she would close the small distance between them and kiss him, right here in the middle of this fancy restaurant.

“Yeah,” she breathes. “What?”

“This,” he murmurs, a moment before his lips, finally, find hers.

It isn’t their first kiss. By now they’ve shared dozens of kisses—some staged, others more real than Rey’d wanted to admit to herself at the time. But this is their first kiss that’s made her knees go weak, that stole the breath from her lungs, that made her stop thinking about where she was or whether kissing Ben was the right thing to do. Right now, thinking of any kind is an impossibility. There is nothing in the world but Ben’s hand on her thigh, his arm tight around her waist, and his sweet, sensuous lips on hers, kissing her with a kind of heat she has dreamed of but seldom known. This kiss drives all conscious thought from her head, makes her want nothing more than climb over the table and onto his lap, and kiss him back with everything that she has.

Ben sighs, a moment before tracing the seam of her lips with the tip of his tongue. Everybody in this restaurant is probably staring at them as they make out like teenagers but it hardly matters. What matters is Ben, his tongue sliding deliciously along hers as he kisses her, and her fingers, at long last sliding into his impossibly soft hair.

“Please come home with me,” Ben urges quietly, right into her ear, when they part to catch their breath. The woman at the table next to them is definitely watching them now. She says something to her dinner companion and then begins to giggle into her hand. Rey pays her no mind. “Please, Rey.”

Ben’s tone pleads with her as much as his words do, the quiet heat of it setting fire to her veins.

Rey slowly, quietly, gets out of her chair, and pulls it around to the other side of the table so she is sitting beside Ben. She turns her face, burying it in the side of his neck. His pulse races beneath her cheek.

His arms go up and around her so quickly she nearly loses her balance.

“If I... go home with you, Ben,” she murmurs, her breath hot against his skin, “I need to know you won’t freak out on me again.”

His grip on her tightens. “I won’t.”

“I’m… not where you are. At least… not yet,” she adds, quickly. “Ben, you’re so smart, and strong, and earnest and… god, you are  _ so _ fucking hot.” She leans in and nips gently at the pulse point on his neck. Then she kisses him there, again and again, vowing to sear the quiet, barely-restrained noises he makes into her memory forever. 

“Rey.”

“I’m... I’m only just falling in love with you now.” The stutter her heart makes at the quiet admission syncopates perfectly with his sharp intake of breath. “But I haven’t been here for years the way you have. There’s nothing I can do about that. I wish I could.”

“I don’t care about that.” Ben’s voice is husky, strained. His breath is coming far too fast. On impulse, Rey glances down at the front of his pants—and gasps when she sees the tented fabric at the front. 

I’ve  _ done that to him _ , Rey thinks, a little dizzy with it.

She shakes her head. “Are you sure, Ben?” she asks. “Because the other day, you said—”

“ _ Fuck  _ what I said the other day.” 

“Ben--”

“I was being an insecure, jealous idiot. I have been this entire time—but these past two weeks have been a special kind of torture. Not speaking to you, barely even  _ seeing  _ you...” He pauses, his arm tightening around her. “After knowing what you look like, what you  _ sound _ like, when you come apart in my arms…”

He trails off, but not before Rey hears the quiet sniffle in his voice.

She rests her hand on top of his.

“Ben,” she whispers.

“It… doesn’t matter if you didn’t notice me when I was too afraid to ask you out.” His voice is low and urgent. “All I care about is if you want me  _ now _ .” He pauses. “I don’t want to lose... whatever this is just because we noticed each other at different times.” 

He pulls her impossibly closer until she’s all but sitting on his lap. He lifts her chin with his finger so that she has to look at him. His face is so close Rey can feel each one of his shaky exhalations against her lips. She feels seconds away from bursting into tears, or flames—maybe both. 

“I don’t want to lose this either,” Rey says honestly.

Ben closes his eyes and lets out a long, slow breath.

“So, Rey,” he says, voice low. “Do you want me now?” 

Out of the corner of her eye Rey can see the bulge at the front of his pants, even bigger and more prominent than it was before.

An idea comes to her. It might be the worst idea she has  _ ever _ had but—why should she tell him that yes, she wants him now, when she could  _ show _ him instead?

On crazy impulse, and before she can talk herself out of doing it, Rey surreptitiously slides her hand down between their bodies, beneath the long white linen tablecloth that hides the lower halves of their bodies from view, and rests her palm meaningfully over his stiffening bulge. 

Ben’s whole body jerks so hard he nearly flips the table. He hisses out his next breath sharply through clenched teeth. But he says nothing.

“I do want you,” Rey murmurs into his neck as she smooths her palm along his stiffening cock. Will she finally get to know what it feels like to have Ben’s cock slamming into her? Will she find out for herself what he tastes like when he comes in her mouth? She hasn’t been waiting as long for this as he has, apparently—but she really,  _ really  _ hopes that tonight, all of the uncertainty will be behind them. Finally. Their strange, awkward dance has gone on long enough.

Rey squeezes her thighs together on reflex, in anticipation, and presses another chaste kiss to the place where his neck meets his shoulder. 

“I…  _ Rey _ ...” Ben sputters. But he doesn’t finish his sentence, because now Rey is applying a little more pressure as she strokes him, and his cock is swelling impossibly larger inside his slacks and within her grip. Rey can’t read minds, but she is pretty sure she can tell the general direction of Ben’s thoughts by the way his eyes bulge, then snap tightly shut, his nostrils flaring.

“You’re usually so good with your words, Ben,” she teases, whispering the words into his ear. “So articulate. But not right now. Why is that?” She presses another chaste kiss to his neck, and he bites his lip, digging his teeth into the plump pink flesh. 

Probably to keep from moaning, Rey realizes.

“ _ Rey _ .”

“ _ Shh.”  _ She nuzzles the shell of his ear with the tip of her nose, and rests her head on his shoulder as she starts speeding up the movement of her hand. “Let me show you how much I want you.”

“But…”

“But what?”

“ _ Here?” _

She squeezes him, and all the breath leaves his body in a loud, shaky rush.

“Why not here?”

“Rey—“

She presses the index finger of her free hand to his lips, silencing him.

“Do you want me to stop?” Her eyes fall to his lips, still plump from when they kissed earlier. He’d kissed her cunt with those lips, once. She wants him to do it again and again. “Or can I make you come under the table, right here?”

Ben’s cock throbs against her palm by way of wordless response.

It’s the only answer she needs.

“You have to be silent,” she warns him on a quiet whisper as she undoes the button of his slacks and eases down the zipper tooth by tooth. She double-checks to make sure what she’s doing is totally obscured by the tablecloth—it is, thank god—and then eases him out of his pants. 

She wraps her hand around his length, and Ben’s eyes nearly fall out of his head when her thumb quickly swipes over the tip, smearing the dribble of pre-cum along his shaft.

“Can you be quiet for me, Ben?”

He nods once, obediently—a simple, rough jerk of his head—and his hand shoots out to grab his napkin off his dinner plate. He holds onto it with a death grip, so tight his knuckles are white, as she begins to work him in earnest. She’s never jerked off someone this big before, and her arm tires more quickly than she expects. But the look on his face—jaw slack, eyes glazed over as he forces them to stay open—spurs her on.

He made her come the last time they were intimate, his face buried between her thighs and his mouth suckling at her clit. She wants to do the same for him. She wants to make him feel good, to make him forget himself and forget all about this awful night. To lose himself to mindless pleasure as she coaxes a secret orgasm out of him in this very public place with her hands.

He deserves this. She wants to be the one to give it to him.

Time passes. Rey isn’t sure how much time. She experiments with different rhythms and pressures, alternating short fast jerks of her hand with long, slower movements. Ben, for his part, looks utterly obliterated with the effort required to hold on, his hands clawing at the sides of his chair to keep himself from fucking up into her grip the way she knows he wants to. Every tendon in his neck stands out in sharp relief as he fights what Rey knows must be a growing urge to let go.

He’s trying so hard not to come.

But she wants to  _ make _ him let go.

She leans in closer to him without breaking the rhythm of her hand and whispers, right in his ear: “I want you to come, Ben.” She briefly sucks his earlobe into her mouth before letting it slip free again. “I want to feel it.”

That does it. A moment later Ben squeezes his eyes shut tight and bites down so hard on his bottom lip he nearly draws blood. She catches the first hot spurt of his cum in her palm, and then rushes to grab the packet of tissues in her purse to get the rest of it. His orgasm seems to stretch on for minutes, the muscles in his arms and legs twitching as he fights with every ounce of strength to stay utterly silent and still. He’s mostly successful; fortunately, Rey is able to cover up the few quiet whimpers that still escape his lips with a feigned coughing fit.

As Ben slowly comes back to himself, Rey takes a quick look around the room to make certain no one is watching them.

Fortunately, nobody seems to be. If anyone here noticed she just jerked Ben off under the table at least they’re not showing any outward signs of it. 

Relieved, Rey turns back to see him gazing at her like she hung the moon. 

“Was that good?” she mouths, smiling a little. She knows it was. She can tell by his flushed cheeks, his glassy eyes—and, of course, the sticky residue of his cum she’s still wiping off the palm of her hand.

He leans in close and whispers: “It was amazing.”

“Good.”

“Yes.” He slides his hand up her thigh again—only this time, he doesn’t stop until he reaches her sex. Whatever Rey had been about to say next flies from her head. “But what I give you when we get back home will be even better.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please look at this amazing art [HouseOfFinches](https://twitter.com/HouseOfFinches/status/1259573778046124032?s=20) did of the scene in the restaurant from the last chapter, and at this gorgeous moodboard from [bensoloswhore](https://twitter.com/bensoloswhore/status/1262014295531020290?s=20). This fandom continues to blow me away with its kindness and talent!
> 
> Here we are, everyone! The final chapter of the story. I hope you enjoy it. <3

The drive back to the apartment is one of the longest car rides of Rey’s life. 

They hit every stoplight. They hit stoplights Rey is convinced didn’t even  _ exist  _ yesterday. 

Ben’s warm hand on her thigh--the way he keeps inching it higher, and higher--has made every moment they are here in this car and not yet back home stretch into an interminable hour. 

“Focus on driving,” Rey chastises with as much strength as she can muster when the tips of Ben’s fingers finally slip beneath the hem of her dress. But the words sound half-hearted even to her own ears. If Ben weren’t driving right now she certainly wouldn’t be telling him to stop. 

They made out in the backseat of this car for god only knows how long--like a couple of horny, out-of-control teenagers--after leaving the restaurant. Right now Rey is wetter--more wound up, more eager for his touch--than she’s ever been for anything in her life.

But he  _ is _ driving. On Lake Shore Drive, no less. He’s going to have to keep it together just a little bit longer--no matter how hard it is to wait.

They both are.

“I  _ am  _ focusing on driving,” Ben protests as he casually shoves aside the scrap of lacy underwear covering her cunt with a single finger. He keeps his eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead as he slicks the tip of his finger through her folds. Rey gasps and squeezes her eyes shut tight against the wave of delicious sensation rocketing through her, her hips lifting up and out of the seat to grind against the heel of his hand before she even realizes she’s doing it.

“Ben,” she pants. She grabs a tight hold of his wrist with both hands, telling herself she needs to pull his hand away from her body but not having the strength to do it. “This… this is a bad idea.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Ben says, cooly. Only the enormous tented bulge at the front of his slacks gives any sign that he’s being affected by what he’s doing. “You got me off in the restaurant. It’s only fair that I return the favor.”

“Yes, but…”

He adds a second finger to the first and the rest of Rey’s feeble protest dies in her throat, because now he’s applying direct, meaningful pressure right to her clit, drawing tight little deliberate circles on it in a way that’s surely meant to get her off before they even make it back home. 

“Ben…”

“Shhh,” he whispers. “Let me make you feel good, Rey.” His warm words wash over her like honey wine, and when the speed of his fingers increases Rey feels her body already lurching headlong towards orgasm. She no longer remembers why she thought this was a bad idea. In truth, she’s having a hard time holding on to any thoughts at all. The noise of the traffic all around them fades into nothing as Rey’s grip on Ben’s wrist tightens, as her body goes taut as a bowstring beneath his fingertips and her mouth drops open on a silent scream.

* * *

Rey is boneless in Ben’s arms, a couple minutes or a few hours later, when he gently gathers her up and carries her up the four flights of stairs to their apartment.

He shifts her weight in his arms, a little awkwardly, as he tries to fish his keys from the front pocket of his slacks.

“The last time I carried you over the threshold I’d wanted so badly for it to be real,” he admits quietly, lips soft and warm against her temple. 

Rey’s stomach flips at the earnestness she hears in his voice. “I didn’t realize it at the time, but...“ She trails off as Ben unlocks the door, opens it, and crosses over into the apartment, all while still carrying her. “I think that was the moment where I first thought this  _ just friends _ thing wasn’t going to play out as planned.”

He sets her down carefully and presses a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“Really?” 

“I remember you smelled so good.” She smiles, thinking back on that day. “And you looked incredible during the ceremony. And afterwards. I felt bad about thinking that way--like I shouldn’t be lusting after an acquaintance who only thought of me as a friend.”

He snorts. “I can assure you it would have made my day—no, actually, my month—if you’d told me.”

After that they stand together in silence, just looking at each other, the tension in the room suddenly a palpable thing. They’re all alone again, inside the apartment where they’ve spent the past several months both pretending to be in love and not pretending at all. 

When they’d left the apartment this afternoon it was separately, and under dramatically different circumstances. Now, though…

_ Now _ , there has been a permanent, seismic shift between them. There’s no going back from this.

The enormity of what’s about to happen—of what has already happened—makes Rey dizzy.

“Did you... want to take selfies of us dancing tonight?” Rey blurts out, just to break the silence. A stupid question, of course. She already knows the answer. The way he’d touched her during the car ride over here—the looks he’s giving her now…

All of it tells her everything she needs to know. Ben’s eyes widen in what looks a little like genuine surprise. 

“I’m sorry, but... what?” Ben’s voice is thicker than usual. Rough around the edges. 

Rey licks her lips. “To send to your mother?” she clarifies.

“Oh. That.” He shakes his head. “No.”

“I see.” Ignoring the sudden rush of butterflies taking flight in the pit of her stomach Rey steps closer. She tries to adopt a sultry tone and asks, “Well, what  _ did _ you want to do tonight?”

His lips are on hers almost before the words are out of her mouth, his hands coming up to cradle her face. On instinct, Rey winds her arms around his neck, and then jumps, wrapping her legs tight around his waist. Ben responds immediately, hands sliding down her back to support her weight, his massive frame able to handle the impact of her jumping on him without his needing to take so much as a single step backwards. 

Ben’s erection from the car doesn’t seem to have flagged at all; Rey can feel every inch of it now, hard and solid, pressed firmly up against her sex as he starts walking them towards his bedroom. His mouth is all but devouring hers; his steps are a little uneven as he hurries to get them where he wants to go.

“No selfies. I want to do _ this _ ,” Ben mutters, breaking the kiss only long enough to get the words out before diving back in for more. “Only this.” 

When he lays her out on his bed she doesn’t let go of him, tugging him down until he’s lying right on top of her. They’ve never done this before, with all of his considerable weight pressing her into the mattress. Ben seems to realize this all at once; he quickly pushes up onto his elbows to give her some space and keep from crushing her. 

But she doesn’t want him to give her space. She’s had nothing  _ but _ space from him for weeks now. She wants to keep him with her, feel his weight pressing down on top of her, covering her entire body like a warm, comforting blanket.

She tightens her hold on him, and wraps her legs so tightly around his waist she can feel the strain of it in her muscles.

“Hey,” he says, chuckling a little. “I’m not going anywhere.” He reaches up and loosens the death grip her arms have him in. He kisses the inside of one of her wrists, and then the other, before gently laying both of her arms down by her sides. “I’m right here.”

Then his lips come crashing down on hers again—and everything about the energy in the room changes. Gone is the hesitation from the restaurant, the barely-restrained passion from the car. Ben kisses her with the pent up ferocity of someone who knows he will soon, finally, be getting everything he has ever wanted. The Ben she’s been living with is gone; in his place is an animal, wild and hungry, who’s only hanging on to the last vestiges of his sanity by the barest whisper of a thread. He breaks the kiss only long enough to yank the top of her dress down and to shove her skirt up, slanting his lips back over hers as he fumbles awkwardly at his own clothes.

“Wait,” Rey murmurs against his lips. “Wait. Let me help.”

“I can get it,” Ben pants. “Just—”

Rey puts her hands on Ben’s chest and applies some gentle pressure, stilling his movements. She can feel the rapid beat of his heart, his heaving breaths, beneath her palms.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she says, mirroring his earlier words back at him. “We aren’t in a rush.”

He huffs out a small laugh. “I know, but—”

“Let me help you,” she says again. Ben opens his mouth to say something else—probably to protest again—but Rey’s hands are already sliding down his chest, easily and nimbly undoing buttons and revealing more and more of his bare chest to her eyes as she goes. 

She’s never really gotten to look her fill of Ben’s body before. And so she takes the opportunity to do it now as he hurriedly shrugs out of his sleeves and chucks his shirt to the floor. He is just so  _ broad _ , everywhere, the expanse of his pectoral muscles like something you might see on the cover of a Harlequin romance novel. She can feel those very same muscles flexing beneath her hands as he gets to work on his belt buckle, undoes the button and zipper of his slacks. 

Shoves his pants and boxers down his legs and finally,  _ finally _ , kicks them off. 

When at last he is naked, Rey leans back against the pillows, marveling at the sight of him standing before her at the foot of the bed. His rigid cock juts out from the thatch of riotous dark pubic hair at his crotch, every bit as massive as it was the last time she saw it.

Rey stares at him—at that unbelievable cock of his—for so long Ben starts to fidget.

“Everything all right?” 

Rey glances up at his face. His dark eyes are hooded. Hungry. Beneath it all, though, is an uncertainty. Now that no more clothes, or words, lie between them, Ben is worried she doesn’t like what she sees. 

That won’t do at all.

Rey nods, and reaches for him. “Everything is perfect. Come here.”

He goes willingly. Eagerly.

It’s been a long time since Rey has done this. From the way Ben’s whole body shakes as he holds himself above her, Rey gathers it’s been a while for him, too. She smooths her hands down his broad backside, not stopping until her palms reach the globes of his ass. She cups them in her hands and squeezes, reveling in the way his breath hitches and his chest heaves.

“You okay?” she asks.

His chin jerks once in an abrupt approximation of a nod.

“Yeah,” he says. But he’s still shaking.

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I…” He ducks his head until his cheek rests flush against hers. “I’ve just… um. Really built this moment up in my mind.” He swallows. “That’s all.”

He turns his head a little and presses a shaky kiss to her cheek. In the process, his hips shift forward inadvertently—just a little; just enough that the tip of his cock bumps up against her wet center. She hears Ben groan, and Rey’s eyes flutter closed at the teasing feel of him—so close, and yet so far away from where she needs him to be. She needs him inside her already, filling her up—

They’ve already waited far too long for this.

“Ben,” she murmurs. He must be feeling the same impatience she is because he isn’t trembling anymore; he’s  _ shaking. _ She runs her palms down his arms in encouragement, noticing with primal satisfaction at how taut the corded muscles are. “ _ Please _ .”

In the end, that’s what breaks him.

With a grunt and a single sharp jerk of his hips he ends their waiting.

Rey cries out reflexively as he thrusts home, bottoming out inside her so quickly it pushes all the breath from her lungs. All at once, she is so full of him it feels like there’s nothing inside her anymore that  _ isn’t _ him. 

“You… you okay?” Ben’s chest is heaving with exertion even though they are both lying perfectly still. On instinct Rey wraps her arms around him as tightly as she can.

“Yeah,” she breathes. She lifts her legs, wraps them around his waist again, urging him on, begging him silently to start moving. 

He sucks in a shuddering breath.

“Rey,” he gasps, burying his face in her chest. He lets out a strangled sob. “ _ Fuck _ . You’re so… Rey, I’m not going to last.”

“I don’t care,” she says. She bucks her hips up against him and feels him swell impossibly larger inside her in response. He shifts forward a little—but not enough, not  _ nearly _ enough. She needs him to fuck her right into the mattress. She needs him to ride her so hard and so relentlessly the neighbors complain about the noise tomorrow morning. She came less than twenty minutes ago, but already she can feel that familiar, steady build starting up again at the base of her spine. The shimmering promise of another mind blowing orgasm, just out of reach. 

“ _ I _ care,” he mutters. “Just… gimme a minute. Don’t want to… last less than twenty seconds the first time we—”

“Ben,” she says, cutting him off. She pushes back against him again, and then again, trying to spur him into action. She watches as Ben’s eyes first cross, then snap tightly shut. “I need you to move. Please, Ben.”

She’s so desperate for friction she snakes her hand down between their bodies so she can touch her clit without even realizing she’s doing it.

“ _ No _ ,” he grunts. He abruptly grabs her hand and pulls it away from her body, slamming it to the mattress beside them and pinning it there with his large hand. “ _ I’m _ going to make you come.”

And then, without warning, Ben begins to move, with so much pent up speed and passion behind his thrusts there is no room anymore for doubt.

“You’ve been… sleeping… down the hall from me,” he grits out between forceful thrusts. “For months. Do you have… any idea… how many times I’ve jerked off, thinking about this? About… fucking you?”

She tries to answer him, tries to get her brain to find words and her mouth to form them. But he’s fucking her so hard now, her breasts bouncing with each one of his sharp movements, that it pushes all thoughts from her head, all words from her lips. 

When she opens her mouth to answer him all that comes out is a low, breathy moan.

“That’s right,” he pants. “I’ve thought about this. So many times. Every night. For  _ months _ .” He slides his hands beneath her ass and lifts her hips off the mattress to change his angle. The slight shift in position lets him pound into her harder, allows his cock to go deeper—as if that were a thing that should even be possible. 

“Ben,” she groans. She wants him to keep talking. She wants this to go on forever. 

“Thinking of you down the hall… in your bed… wondering if you were fucking yourself on your fingers instead of my cock…”

He lifts her ass a little higher; the noise she makes in response hardly even qualifies as words. She moans, helpless and nearly mindless with pleasure, as he continues to fuck into her.

Her cunt pulses once, and hard, around his cock. The delicious precursor to her orgasm. Ben grunts incoherently, bites his lip, and buries his face in the crook of her neck. “Let me make you come. I want… I want to feel it.” He groans, long and loud; his thrusts are already growing jerkier, more erratic. “Fuck, Rey… you feel so… _ good _ …”

Rey’s orgasm crashes over her like a tidal wave, unexpected and devastating. Her mind dissolves in the waves of pleasure, every molecule in her body realigning into a new, blissful shape. She is vaguely aware of Ben crying out above her, his body going stiff and rigid on top of her as his hips slam into hers one final time, his face buried in her neck, his cock pulsing hot and thick and urgent inside of her.

She loses track of time after that; of how long it takes for their heart rates to slow and their breathing to settle. At some point Ben rolls them so that his body is curled protectively around hers, one heavy arm slung over her waist, their legs and feet tangled together under the blankets.

She closes her eyes on a contented, happy sigh.

This is nothing like how she imagined this was going to go, when she agreed to marry him.

It feels like coming home.

* * *

** _(six weeks later)_ **

* * *

The office space shared by the City of Chicago’s legal department has a very different layout and feel from the one Rey is used to at Legal Aid. 

For starters, all the attorneys actually have offices. With doors that close.

Even junior attorneys like her.

Rey follows Mon Mothma down the narrow hallway towards what is going to be her own private office here at the City. She smiles politely at everyone as they look up at her, but she’s far too nervous right now to stay and chat with anybody.

She always is, her first day in a new place.

“Here we are,” the older woman says with a small smile. Mon Mothma opens the door for her and stands to the side as Rey walks into it, eyes wide. 

The room is a little too warm—stuffy in the way rooms that have been closed up for too long without any circulation sometimes get. But that doesn’t matter. She’ll ask them to turn on the air, and she’ll put a potted plant over in that corner by the window, and—

“Will this work for you?” Mon Mothma’s crisp voice cuts into her interior decorating plans.

Rey nods. “Yes. Thank you.” She sets her purse down on top of her new desk. “Is there anything else I need to fill out?”

“H.R. will be in touch this afternoon to discuss what else they’ll need for your particular Visa situation,” Mon Mothma says. “They can answer any questions you might have.”

“Great,” Rey says. She pulls her chair out from under the desk and sits down in it. It looks like it’s been recently redone with the blue fabric covering it, and nothing fancy. It’s the most comfortable work chair Rey’s ever had. “Thank you.”

“We’ll be meeting at lunch today to introduce you to everyone.” Mon Mothma adjusts the severe collar of her suit jacket before adding, “And you will get your first work assignment this afternoon.”

“Okay.” 

“In the meantime,” Mon Mothma says, putting her hand on the doorknob to Rey’s office and turning to leave, “Get set up and make yourself comfortable.”

A few minutes after her boss has left her Rey pulls her phone from her purse and texts Ben.

_ Hey _

His reply is nearly instantaneous.

**Hi. **

**How’s it going so far?**

_ Well, I only just got here.  _

_ So far so good though. _

_ I have my own office and everything. _

**Did you not have your own office before?**

_ Ben, we had metal folding chairs in the waiting room at ILSLA.  _

_ Some of them had rusted hinges _

_ Of course i didn’t have my own office before. _

**Wow.**

**Well, in any event, I’m glad you have your own office now.**

_ Yeah, it’s pretty cool. _

_ I think I’m going to bring in a potted plant _

Ben doesn’t say anything else for a while after that. It’s nearly nine in the morning; Rey knows he must be at the office, already in the middle of some disaster he needs to clean up for one of his terrible clients. 

Five minutes later, when Rey is about to poke her head out of her door and see if she can find where the communal coffee is, her phone buzzes again.

**Are we still on for tonight?**

Rey looks down at her phone and smiles.

When she and Ben agreed they would give dating a try they agreed they would go about it the way any normal couple who is just starting to get to know one another goes about it. Rey envisioned a dinner out here, perhaps a night spent making out on the couch in front of an unwatched Netflix movie there.

One month into the experiment and already things are moving much more quickly than Rey’d anticipated. Of course, in retrospect, she really should have known.

Grinning in the office kitchen she types out her reply.

_ We just saw each other last night, Ben. _

**So what?**

Rey can see him so clearly in her mind’s eye: sitting in his oversized office chair, scowling down at the phone he’s cradling in his massive hands as he taps out the words on the screen.

Her smile grows.

_ I thought we were going to try dating _

**We are dating, aren’t we?**

**We aren’t living together anymore.**

_ We practically are. _

**No we aren’t.**

**All your stuff is gone.**

_ Ben. I haven’t slept in my own apartment in a week. _

Another long pause before Ben replies again. Snoke, or someone else equally horrible, likely has him tied up in something. Rey locates the communal coffee maker and finds herself a chipped mug with cats on it in the cupboard above the sink. She’s pouring herself her first cup when her phone buzzes again.

**I don’t mind.**

She doesn’t doubt that’s true.

In truth, she hasn’t minded either.

**It’s your first day in your new job.**

**And I’ll grant you that I have minimal experience in the dating department. But isn’t taking your girlfriend out to dinner so she can tell you all about her first day in her new job part of what a good boyfriend is supposed to do?**

_ That’s a very good point _ .

**I thought so.**

**So. Can I pick you up at your office? **

Rey closes her eyes, and imagines walking out the front door of this building into the warm late afternoon sunshine. Ben is there, waiting for her, his hands stuffed deep in his trouser pockets.

The kiss he gives her will taste like his afternoon espresso. 

_ Yes, _ Rey writes back, once she’s made her way back to her new office. She sets her coffee down on top of her desk. Already she can see she’s gotten an email from Mon Mothma and someone named Cassian Andor, who must be another attorney here. 

_ That would be great _ , she adds, once she’s pulled open the email.  _ I’ll see you at five. _

**See you then,** Ben replies.  **Have a wonderful first day, Rey.**

And she does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you for being here and for all of your kudos and comments and bookmarks throughout. :)
> 
> I have a lot of writing projects on my plate the next few months, including working on new (and some already existing!) Reylo fics and publishing several original stories. So, stay tuned :)
> 
> ETA: I’m considering pulling this story at some point over the next few months to convert this to an original story. If/when I eventually take down this (or any of my other fics) from AO3 for original fic publishing purposes I will post about it on my [original fiction](https://twitter.com/jeenowrites/) twitter.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on twitter at [jeenonamit](https://twitter.com/jeenonamit/)!  
Or on tumblr, also at [jeenonamit](https://jeenonamit.tumblr.com/).


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